


Rock Bottom

by imnotmadeofeyes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Badass!Cora, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Misunderstandings, Pack Dynamics, Post Episode AU: s05e09, Season/Series 05, Slow Burn, Soulmates, TW: Panic Attacks, TW: accidental self-harm, alpha!Derek, puppy!isaac, these tags are a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotmadeofeyes/pseuds/imnotmadeofeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is slowly going crazy, and when Scott kicks him out of the pack, he hits rock bottom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops. So, this is pretty cliché, but I needed this. HOW CAN THEY DARE HURT MY BABY LIKE THIS. I needed to write this, I NEEDED TO. This probably sucks, and this is pretty angsty and please don't read this if you're easily triggered by descriptions of violence and breaking down.

Stiles and Scott have been best friends since forever. That's not a secret – everybody knows how tight the two of them are. Tight enough so Scott tells Stiles first when he becomes a wolf, tight enough that they consider themselves brothers and their parents are family. Stiles can't remember a time without Scott by his side – his partner in crime, his brother, his best friend. That's everything that Stiles ever knew, and he honestly wouldn't want it any other way.

Except now, he might have to get used to living without Scott. He can't believe what's happening, his mind hasn't really wrapped around it yet. All it keeps doing is replaying the scene from earlier that night in his head. Scott, coming to talk to him while the rain's beating down on the two of them. Scott, trying to stay calm and considerate but being so obviously disappointed and angry. Scott, shying away from Stiles just because he lifts the fucking wrench.

There had been blank terror in Scott's eyes, and it had been directed towards Stiles.

He can't believe that this happened – can't believe that he lost Scott. And he's sure he did, because Scott is afraid of him now, because Stiles killed and Stiles is slowly but surely losing his mind and it sucks. It sucks so bad. And he doesn't know what he's supposed to do, how he's supposed to fix this. He just lost his friends, he just lost his friends. And he's not sure how much Theo has to do with this, but he's the only one who knew about Donovan and he's the one Malia can't keep her eyes off and ever since that asshole came back to Beacon Hills, things have been getting even worse for Stiles.

He's been trying. He's still trying. He's trying to breathe normally, all the drive back home, and he's trying to focus on a way how to get Scott to listen to him. Scott didn't even ask for how it happened. But all these things that should be suspicious to Stiles are left in dark, because the only thing he can focus on right now is that he needs to breathe. He needs to breathe and he needs to stay calm and he needs to find a solution.

As soon as he reaches his room, sees all the stuff and theories and thoughts messily aligned, Stiles breaks. There's only so much he can take, and this has been enough. He's survived the nogitsune and Allison dying and he survived Derek leaving, all while he was weak and hurt, but this is enough. He's tortured, and now he's pretty sure he's going crazy. So Stiles explodes. With a cry he starts tearing down the strings and the photos and the articles and finally, finally the board, too. He's crying, but he doesn't notice – the water streaming down his face could also be the rain dripping from his hair. And when the board goes to the floor and shatters, he does, too. The splinters and bits and pieces of broken glass dig into his feet, his shins, his knees, his hands where he falls onto them as broken sobs shake his body – a body that's just skin and bone now, but nobody's noticed yet. Malia calls him athletic, and the rest of the pack hasn't bothered to look at him in a while.

He feels like he's dying and nobody even cares.

Stiles knows it's a panic attack before it really crashes down around him, and he doesn't even try to stop it. He's got no power to fight anymore. And so his chest constricts and his thoughts spiral into darkness too quick and too fast and he can't. He just can't. He can't breathe and he can't think and there are pictures in his head, pictures that only make it worse but he can't stop them.

The pack, standing together and laughing. Without him, Theo in the middle of it all.

Donovan, and that ugly mouth in the palm of his hand.

Donovan, dead, impaled on the piece of scaffold.

His dad, working late hours, losing weight and losing colour, so worried about his town.

Blood, so much blood.

Malia, staring at Theo like she loves him.

Scott, looking so disappointed.

His own reflection smirking at him, devilish and evil – the Nogitsune inside of him.

Derek, driving away in his Camaro.

Scott, stumbling back as Stiles takes a step forward – so afraid.

Donovan, dead.

Scott, scared.

Stiles doesn't know how these thoughts come up, but he's finally found something to focus on. It's Derek's face when he's leaving. Stiles understood his reasons, but that doesn't mean he's okay with it. He misses Derek, every day a little bit more, even though sometimes they text. But it's not the same. In the past year, Derek and Stiles became .. friends, of some sort. They looked out for each other, and when Stiles found Derek unconscious, he almost died with worry until Derek woke up. He only noticed how much he relied on the werewolf until he went away.

Derek is the only person Stiles hasn't screwed up with.

Somehow, Stiles manages to fumble out his phone. He smears blood from the cuts in his palms all over it, but he couldn't care less. His fingers are shaking, but he still finds Derek's contact, presses call. It's all he can think about. He needs Derek. He needs someone, but most of all he needs Derek. Because Derek is there for him, because Derek promised him, because Stiles never forgot the words Derek used as goodbye.

".. Stiles?"

He sounds groggy, and it makes sense – it's the middle of the night. But it's definitely Derek, he picked up after five rings, and Stiles can't breathe; relieved, this time, but also scared and broken and needy.

"Derek" It's all he says. He wants to tell him, wants to tell him what happened and how he is and _please, please just come home, I need you_. He can't get the words to leave his mouth, though.

"Stiles, what's wrong?"

"I-I fucked up. Bad." And there he is, and his breathing is short and irregular and ragged and his panic attack isn't gone, he's still in the middle of it, but Derek's there, on the other hand of the line, and only hearing his voice makes things better, at least a little bit. Stiles isn't sure if anyone else had picked up.

Derek's silent for a while, but Stiles can hear his breathing, slow, deep. Has he fallen asleep again? "You need to calm down for me. Can you do that? Just breathe. Listen to my breathing and just breathe." He hasn't. Stiles does just that. He concentrates on the sounds coming from the speaker, and eventually his breathing slows and his heart stops racing and it stops. He falls to the floor again, and the shreds dig into his skin, but he doesn't care. Pain keeps you human.

"Okay, good, Stiles, that's good. Will you be fine? Six hours, that's all."

Stiles only understands what Derek said when he'd muttered "yeah, yeah" and Derek answered "Good. I'm coming, I'll be there. Don't you worry". Derek's coming back. He's coming back for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read all your comments. Every. Single. One. It's beautiful. I want to thank you for all your support and all your enthusiasm - and here's some more. I never wanted to write a chaptered fic ever again, but I guess things never come out as planned. Not that I care too much, heh. This is angsty and fluffy and doesn't really have any plot, but the next part will have some more action ... maybe. I don't really know what happens next, to be honest.

When exhaustion overwhelms Stiles after all, he does not in fact pass out on the floor, no matter how tired he is. He's not quite sure how he manages, but he's even able to strip out of his wet clothes and pull on a t-shirt and sweatpants before he crawls into bed and passes out. The sleep is deep and dreamless, as it always is after a bad panic attack, but it doesn't grant him any rest. When he wakes up, five hours are gone and he's still dead tired. He stays in bed, buries his face in the covers. He already regrets what he did.

How could he be so weak, so stupid? It was hard work he just destroyed. This isn't right. On the other hand, some dark voice inside him whispers, maybe that's exactly what it is – he's good at destroying things. Maybe it's even the only thing he's really good at. He destroyed his mother's body and he destroyed his dad's career chance and he destroyed his chances with Lydia and then his chances with Malia and he destroyed his friendship with Scott. That's his greatest fault, actually: he destroyed his and Scott's friendship.

The tears are welling up again, and there's a dull ache in his chest that he can't explain but still knows exactly what it is. He feels guilty, yeah, but most of all he misses Scott. He misses spending all day playing Pokémon with or against each other, he misses spending all day outside, playing other dumb games, he misses having sleep-overs and movie nights and just being best friends attached to the hip. Things changed so much after Scott became a werewolf. And okay, things have also gotten more exciting and Stiles finally has girls and more friends and everything, but if he could have the old way back, he would take it without hesitation.

He's talking about Scott, after all. His best friend in the whole fucking world. Stiles doesn't understand Scott. They've been best friends. He should know that Stiles would never do such a thing. He would never kill anyone on purpose. It was – an accident. Just an accident, nothing more. And he regrets it. Stiles regrets it so badly; oh how he wishes things had gone differently. But he can't change it. He's made a mistake, now he's got to live with it. Scott also made mistakes – it's what made them human. And Stiles forgave Scott everything. Why can't Scott do the same? He doesn't even know everything.

… What does he even know?

Stiles is sad, terrified, but he's also mad of some sort. It's like Scott's not even trying. Like Stiles is just some minor inconvenience he had to get rid of. And that's just … that's bad. Really bad. Fucking awful.

But before Stiles can think himself into another frenzy, a soft knock echoes through the room, followed by the sound of the window being pulled up. Stiles doesn't turn around, because he doesn't need to move to know who just entered his room. Derek's moves are fluid and gentle and so he barely makes a sound as he clambers through the window and shuts it behind him. The sun's just rising – well, it's getting brighter outside, but thick clouds still block out the sight of the clear sky. He must have broken half a thousand rules to get here.

Stiles is so happy to see him.

Still, he doesn't move when the mattress dips under Derek's weight as he sits down on the edge of it. Only when soft fingers brush through Stiles' greasy hair, he lifts his head a bit so he can blink at Derek. He looks good. He's caught a tan down in New York, however he managed that, and his hair and beard are neatly trimmed – he's been taking good care of himself. He even looks like he's been getting enough sleep and food; Stiles hasn't seen him this well rested in a long time.

"Hey" Stiles breathes, nuzzles into Derek's hand ever so slightly. His heart is thumping heavily in his chest, because something inside him settles that has been unsettled for long weeks.

He's returned home.

"Hi" Derek replies softly, and he stares at Stiles with deep, intelligent green eyes. It's like he looks straight through everything Stiles has so carefully built up so nobody can read him anymore – and it should be infuriating, but Stiles can't bring himself to look away and he feels surprisingly calm. Like this reassures him that he's not yet gone completely nuts.

"You okay?" Derek asks. It's a stupid question and the answer is painfully obvious, but Stiles still shakes his head slowly. "You should take a shower. Clean those cuts up. Think you can do that?"

Stiles shrugs. He feels – empty right now, most of all. He doesn't want to move. He doesn't think he has the energy to do much. He would still run a marathon if Derek would ask him to.

"Go take a shower" Derek's hand still hasn't stopped running through his hair, and it's soothing and it just feels good, natural. Stiles has missed this, he realizes. Missed the casual touches Derek and he have been exchanging for a while. He doesn't want it to stop, but he also knows he must be kind of gross, so he nods, then gets up carefully. He walks through the shredded room without caring about the glass shreds lying on the floor. He takes some fresh clothes out of the dresser, then leaves his room – leaves Derek behind. There's still a part of him that knows Derek is there, right in the next room, within shouting distance. That part of him recognises Derek as what he really is, something that neither Stiles nor Derek consciously do so far. Stiles is not sure if that will ever change, but that warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, like a small flame in a colossal pitch black hole is more than enough.

For now.

He puts the water on as hot as he can bear and strips, leaves the old clothes in a messy heap on the floor. He collects all the dirty clothes there. His dad doesn't care as long as he puts them away then and now, washes and dries them. His dad doesn't care about a lot anymore. Stiles isn't even sure if his dad cares about anything that goes on here at home anymore.

The water is so hot it's short to unbearable, but it's just what Stiles needs right now. It reminds him that his body can feel, that it's alive. It reminds him that he's alive. And the soap stings in the countless big and small cuts on his hands and legs, but he couldn't care less. Pain is something he long ago got used to. Pain makes you human – Scott knows that, Derek knows that, and it doesn't just count for werewolves. Sometimes Stiles knows no other way to remind himself that he's in fact a living breathing being, that he's got a place in this world.

Stiles loses track of time while he's in there. At least his mind is silent. Of course, he feels numb and empty now, but it's better than his thoughts spiralling into depths he can't bear, better than thinking about everything he did wrong and everything he hates about himself and all those things he failed his friends with. It's better than the pictures of all the cruelties he's witnessed in the past years replaying in his mind. So he doesn't complain but enjoys it of some sort, just like the raw feeling he gets from the hot water beating down on him.

Eventually he steps out, dries himself up, gets dressed. Some of the cuts have opened again, but Stiles doesn't care. Both his hoodie and the sweatpants are black, so. He pads over to his room, thinking about maybe getting some more sleep before the soothing effect that Derek and the hot shower had on him fades and he has to face his shit. But then he sees what Derek did – cleaned up almost everything, sorted and threw away and took care of the mess Stiles made.

It warms Stiles' heart, but it also makes him feel embarrassed. Derek's taking care of him. Derek's cleaning up after him. How can he ask anyone to clean up his mess?

When Derek notices him standing in the doorway, he gestures for him to sit down on the bed and does the same. They sit side by side, not quite touching, but not not touching either. Stiles can feel the warmth of Derek's body seeping through the fluffy material of his clothes. He wants to wrap himself up in it and never resurface ever again.

"Better?"

Stiles shrugs. Shakes his head. Somewhat, not really.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

Now he right away shakes his head. He doesn't.

Derek nods. "Do you wanna sleep?"

Stiles nods, too. He wants to curl up into himself and hide from the world. He feels horrible.

Derek's fingers ghost over his knee. "Okay."

And Stiles climbs into bed and Derek all but tucks him in.

"Derek?" Stiles murmurs as Derek straightens up, on the way to turn off the lights.

The man turns around. "Yeah?"

"Stay, please?"

"Of course"

"No I- I mean here" Stiles awkwardly gestures to the bed. He wants to engulf himself in Derek's warmth and remember what Derek said before he left and then forget what happened since then.

There's a small tugging at Derek's mouth; not quite a smile, but something fond. "Of course." He turns of the light, toes out of his shoes and wriggles out of his jeans – Stiles should find that appealing, but he's already half asleep when Derek spoons up to him and pulls him close with strong arms.

"Now sleep, Stiles. And tomorrow, we'll figure something out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback's appreciated, you know that. I want to know what you think about the development and all and if I should still continue ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who needs sleep when they can get up at 6.30am to write fanfiction? Definitely not the over-worked me! Ugh. .-.  
> Anyways, first of all I want to thank everyone who's commented - again. Your feedback really makes me want to write more and more and more. All of you people inspire me to work on this fic and it really feels good to have so much support from all of you. Some of your ideas are amazing and those things you say about season 5 ... amen, kids. Amen.  
> I still want to warn you: I'm not sure if I can keep up the pace of a new chapter every one or two days. My life is a mess that you can't plan with, and I don't want to disappoint you when then there's only a new chapter once a week or something. So be warned.

Stiles doesn't want to face his problems. Of course he realizes that he needs to do this, and he knows that Derek can't help him unless he knows things – everything. It's for the best, as people say. But the problem is that not only is Stiles unable to put some things into words, by some other issues he's also triggered so heavily that he freaks out. Like, big time freaks out – just like he did last night. And if it's for him, he really doesn't want to see that ever again; and while he can't stop it from happening, he can avoid things as long as possible before it gets really bad.

Still, when he wakes up cuddled into Derek's broad chest, he feels a little bit more ready to start sorting out things than he did when Derek first arrived. It's his smell – the unique part that solely smells like Derek that clings to his t-shirt, that has wrapped around Stiles like it wants him to smell like Derek, too. His mum had the same effect on him – calming, soothing, reminding him that he's home, no matter how bad things are right now. With Derek back in Beacon Hills, Stiles finally has somewhere he belongs.

Because let's face it, it's been a long time since he really felt like he was a part of Scott's pack. His so-called best friend really screwed that up. Big time.

His first instinct is to press a little bit closer, nuzzle his face into Derek's t-shirt. His arms tighten around Stiles' slender frame, but Derek only gives away he's actually really wide awake when Stiles finally lifts his head to look at the man he's been cuddling – for hours, judging by the light in the room. He's not complaining, he isn't. He misses having someone there with him. Derek looks at him and Stiles can't read his face – it's blank, and his eyes are big and bright and green and so utterly beautiful it would almost take Stiles' breath. Almost.

"Mornin'" Stiles murmurs, and sits up so he can rub his eyes and then fall down on the bed again so Derek and he lie side by side.

"More like midday, sleepy head"

"Shut up, I so deserved that."

"You did"

It should be unsettling. Derek is so calm, so soft; Stiles almost misses his broody wittiness sourwolf-thing. But it's also nice to have him here, because this feels like he accepts Stiles just as he is and that Derek thinks Stiles hasn't done anything wrong and that – that just feels good. Stiles hasn't really felt accepted much of lately.

Derek doesn't bring up the topic of last night again – or generally the topic of all the issues they need to talk about. Instead, he mentions that they could both do with some breakfast and then gets Stiles to get up, put on some actual clothes (read: jeans) and then makes them both a bowl of cornflakes. They eat in front of the tv because it's not like Stiles' dad is coming home anytime soon and could catch them, and avoid newsfeeds at all costs.

They watch How I Met Your Mother, and only after the episode ends, Derek mutes the tv and turns to face Stiles. And Stiles knows he's in for the hard talk now. He doesn't feel ready. Last night's memories are still too new in his head and the cornflakes lie heavily in his stomach – he doesn't know how long it's been since he's eaten. He isn't ready to tell Derek everything that's happened in the last two or three months; he's not sure if he could tell him everything if he tried. There's been so much – too much. Things are fuzzy here and blurry there and he's just not sure anymore.

"Are you ready to tell me now?" Derek asks.

Stiles shakes his head.

"You'll still have to talk to me now – you know that, right?"

A nod. Stiles watches his fingers knot and unknot.

Derek's fingers are in the nape of his neck now, brush over skin and through loose strands of hair. Stiles wants to bare his neck and press closer, but he stays where he is, just lets the warmth that comes from the touch seep through him slowly.

"You know I haven't been in the best of shapes after the whole Nogitsune thing. And things really didn't improve after you left. Still, it was okay. It was calm and we were seniors and we were okay. We were healing. Things really only started getting bad after Theo turned up."

And so Stiles tells Derek the whole story. About Theo and how he's gotten weird and the book they found in the room of the dead girl and about The Dread Doctors and about the dead kids and just about everything. It catches Stiles by surprise how easy it is. The words come to him naturally, like Derek is just the right person he needs to talk to right now. And he doesn't know how right he is with that. Derek may not be able to help him much, let's face it. Right now, he can't do anything but listen to Stiles. But that's enough. He listens to Stiles calmly, doesn't ask things, gives him time when he comes to a halt.

Stiles is not sure anyone's done that in a while. Liam hasn't really accepted him as a superior part in the pack, Kira is … Kira is Kira, she has the attention span of a goldfish – not meant to harm, sorry. Lydia does listen to him, sometimes, but she's got enough Banshee stuff going on to care about his dumb ideas. She mostly knows it better, anyways. And Scott – we don't need to talk about Scott. No idea what it is, but Scott never listens to him anymore. Just like he doesn't care. Just like none of them care. It's like Stiles is invisible, a burden or not important enough.

But Derek isn't like that.

That's why Stiles also tells him about Donovan. His hands are shaking and his voice is airy and he sounds squeaky half the time, but he even shows Derek that weird bite at the back of his shoulder – from a mouth in his fucking palm, just what the hell – and then manages to explain all the things that happened that night. Derek listens, shows no sign of emotion whatsoever, doesn't even bat an eyelash. His fingers have stopped playing with Stiles' hair when he started talking, but when Stiles stops after the Donovan incident, they're back.

It's silent for long minutes, and only then Derek speaks up.

"And what happened last night, Stiles?"

There are goosebumps on Stiles' skin and it's not because he's cold. "Well, Theo found out – or saw me at the school, or whatever. When Donovan fell. And he must've told Scott, because Scott found out and – he was angry. And he's so disappointed. Kicked me out of the pack. He doesn't want a best friend slash pack mate who's a murderer." Now that he's said it, he chokes up again, but he fights the tears down. He's past the crying. Mostly he's just angry now. A helpless kind of angry, but angry still.

"Oh shit" Derek says, ever so eloquently.

"Yeah" Stiles replies. He has noticed, however, that Derek's fingers still haven't retreated.

"I don't think you murdered him."

And that's just – "What?!"

"I don't think you murdered him. He chased you, you defended yourself, he fell. It didn't happen on purpose, and you were in danger. You did not murder him." Derek says that like it's painfully obvious. And Stiles wants to believe him. God he wants to. But there's too much evidence – no matter how false or emotionally altered it might be – in his head to do so.

"Yeah, right"

"Don't yeah, right me, Stiles." Derek sighs. "It's true. And I'm gonna make you believe it. I'm gonna make Scott believe it." Then, Derek gets silent for a second, and his eyebrows draw together. "What have you told Scott?"

"That it was self-defence"

"I know that. But – how much does he know about that night?"

"I don't know, what Theo told him."

"Oh." Derek says. "Oh shit."

And then, Stiles realizes two things. One, Scott McCall, his best friend in the whole world, trusts a boy who's basically a stranger more than his best friend in the whole world. And two, Theo Raeken is a miserable, horrible liar he wants to strangle to get the truth out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you know, feedback and ideas are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter, yay :3 I didn't really have much time for writing these days - and I'm not sure when the next chapter will come. Not this weekend, though, busy days. But I can promise you that shit's going down next chapter; in this part, I'm just trying out how I want Stiles and Derek to interact when Derek is not trying to save Stiles' life.
> 
> Again, thank you for all the comments :) I might not answer each and every one, but I do read them - just another reminder. And they keep making me want to write more for you, so please don't stop commenting, even when you repeat yourselves <3

Stiles kind of feels the urge to strangle someone – and that is kind of terrifying considering the situation he is in right now. He doesn't know whether that applies to Theo or himself, though. He's never sure about anything right now. It starts making a lot of sense now. Stiles knew they were wrong to trust an asshole like Theo, but never would he have thought that the boy would dare pull some shit like that. And that might be the hint who he wants to strangle. Yeah, there, right there. Stiles wants to strangle Theo. Or hang him upside down from a lamp mast and bump his head. Repeatedly. With his baseball bat. Really hard.

Whoa. That's really some violence there.

"Stiles?" It's Derek – who patiently sat back while he spaced out. "Are you okay?"

"Just fine" Stiles replies. It's a lie, but they both know it. "I'm just fighting my homicidal tendencies concerning Theo."

"I do understand that" Derek says, nods appreciatively. That smug bastard.

Stiles smirks. "So you're in?"

It draws a beautiful little laugh from Derek's throat. "No, I'm not. I'm in with you finally talking with Scott, though."

Stiles isn't sure which idea he likes less. He decides it's killing Theo, after all. "Derek"

"No, Stiles. You know the both of you need to get things straight. Talk to him. He's your leader"

At that, Stiles scoffs. "He hasn't been that great a leader in a long time."

That shouldn't surprise Derek as much as it does. "But he's your alpha."

"Hasn't behaved like one lately" Stiles shoots back. It's true. Scott has tried to keep his fingers out of things. He hasn't cared much for anything. He hasn't cared that Stiles has been getting worse, he hasn't cared that Kira had to face her dark side, he hasn't cared that Malia needs to figure out how to get rid of the woman who is her mother. Scott hasn't cared about anything, and Stiles doesn't even know why. He tried, he did; but Scott never lets him in anymore.

Derek sighs, runs his hand through his hair and lets his head fall back against the couch. "We still need to find him and talk to him." He repeats. "And yeah, I'm saying we." He doesn't say more, but Stiles understands. After the two years Derek looked after Scott, he feels responsible. Stiles is not sure if Derek should really feel that way, but … it's at least some kind of reassuring.

"So you'll be coming with me?"

"Of course" It sounds like Derek doesn't plan on leaving Stiles alone anytime soon, and that is the most reassuring thing Stiles has heard in a long time. It feels good to have him back around – to have someone by his side, someone he can rely on. Someone who understands him.

"Okay."

Stiles decides he wants to try and call Scott first – wants to make sure that it's okay he's coming over – and so that's what he does. He fumbles out his phone, calls Scott. Big surprise: he doesn't pick up. The twenty calls from last night that Scott also ignored are an indicator that this doesn't happen accidentally. Stiles kind of feels like vomiting when he lets his hands fall down into his lap again.

"He doesn't pick up" Stiles tells Derek, even though he knows that the other knows. Then, he dials the number he's memorized: his house phone. This time, someone is picking up, but it's not Scott.

"Stiles!" Melissa's voice sounds tired, but she's also happy to hear from him. She's about the only person who kept being nice to him in the past weeks. "What is up why are you calling?"

"I just – is Scott home? He's not picking up his phone, and – I need to talk to him."

"He's here, yeah" Melissa replies. Stiles can only imagine her frown, but he feels like it's there. "He's not in a good state, though. Maybe you should come over, look after him. He won't let me, and you're his best friend, after all." So she doesn't know that Stiles and Scott have been falling apart. Stiles sighs. "I'm leaving for work in an hour. Can you make it before then?"

Stiles checks the clock, then looks at Derek. He nods, so Stiles makes an appreciative noise. "Hmmh. I think we can do this. We'll be over soon."

"Okay. See you then, Stiles."

"Yeah. Bye."

He hangs up, but he can't find the energy to move. He just stares at the phone in his hands, the screen black and smeared with grease, scratched from not handling it careful enough. He should really be more careful with it. He doesn't have the money for a new one.

"Come on, Stiles" Derek's hand is on his thigh this time, big and warm and reassuring and home. Stiles looks up at him, meets his concerned bright green eyes. "I'll drive."

"My jeep won't get us there in time anyways."

And so he gets up, puts on his shoes, locks the door after them and climbs into Derek's car. He's never actually been inside the Camaro, he notices once Derek starts up the engine. There are a lot of things he hasn't done with Derek yet; and he doesn't know if he ever gets to do them. He just wishes they were clear about where they were standing.

"It's a nice car."

"Thanks"

Okay, now the silence in the car got weird, or is that just Stiles overthinking things? He's not sure, but this kind of feels like that last evening they had together before Derek left, when they said goodbye. It still feels like that was only yesterday – still feels like Derek had never actually gone. He wishes it was like that. He wishes Derek had never left. Maybe things were different then. But he left, and the memory of when he did is still so vivid that Stiles seems to relive it whenever he thinks about it. He sees him standing there, dark jeans and leather jacket and Ray Bans in the hem of his Henley, looking at him with that new wide-eyed, soft expression.

Stiles is pretty sure that without that memory, he would've gone insane long ago. But he still hears Derek's words clearly, and they keep him grounded when everything else spirals out of control.

"What are you thinking about?" Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs. He doesn't want to tell. "Everything. Nothing. Just – you know."

Derek shakes his head slightly, and his mouth twitches. "You look better than last night."

"I feel better than last night, too."

"Do you think you can figure things out with Scott?"

Stiles shrugs, again. "I'm not sure"

And he isn't. Because he screwed up, didn't he? He failed Scott, he failed the pack, he failed his friends. He failed everything. Stiles would totally understand if Scott didn't want him anymore. But he also understands now that he needs to try, at least. He needs to try and get things straight. He doesn't want Scott to forgive him, he just wants to know that Scott knows the whole story. It wouldn't be okay then, but it would be better than it is right now.

It's not long before Derek parks in front of the house, but after he turns off the engine, they make no move to get out and walk up to the veranda. Instead, they look at each other – and there is Derek touching Stiles again, just fingertips ghosting over Stiles' arm. It's enough to calm his nerves. And god, are they unsettled. Stiles kind of wants to climb into Derek's lap and curl up against his chest. But you can't have everything, can you?

"Are you ready?"

"No"

Derek huffs a laugh, shakes his head. For a second, it feels like he wants to take Stiles' hand, but then he draws his hand back and turns away. "Let's get this over with. Come on, Stiles."

And Stiles shouldn't feel like he's just being thrown into the lion's den; he just goes to talk to the boy who supposedly is his best friend. But the house also is a wolf's cave, so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Feedback? Ideas? I want to hear everything :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so short, I'm so sorry :o but I needed to share this with you, because obviously this is what you guys have been waiting for. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing this <3

When they walk up the path to the front door, Stiles wishes he could reach out and just take Derek's hand – take his hand and hold onto him like the anchor he is to Stiles. He wants to be grounded by the warmth of his skin and the fluttering of his pulse, not just the knowledge that he's right there, right beside him. The knowledge helps – without Derek, Stiles wouldn't be here, he knows that. But it's not enough to take the nervousness that shakes his bones and the fear that creeps under his skin and makes him shiver even though it's not too cold.

"You'll be fine" Derek says.

"I do doubt that" Stiles replies, and lifts his hand to ring the doorbell. Just a couple seconds later, Melissa opens the door. She looks stressed, like she lost weight and slept too little. She probably did. But she still hugs him like he hasn't been hugged in a while.

"Stiles, hi, good to see you" And then her eyes fall to Derek. "And – Derek. Hello."

They never liked each other. It's okay, Stiles can live with that. "I guess he's in his room?"

Melissa nods, and Stiles right away makes his way upstairs. He doesn't want to wait any longer, doesn't want to push the thing further. Derek is right, they need to figure things out. He needs to – he needs to get his best friend back. He wants his best friend back. He's not sure he can live without Scott, actually. Because Scott might have been an asshole lately, but he's still Stiles' best friend.

He still hesitates in front of the door, even though there's Derek's hand just faintly pressing into his back, reminding him that he's strong enough, that he can do that. He takes a deep breath, and feels a lot like bolting when there's a shout from inside the room.

"Just come in, I know you're there"

And so Stiles has no choice but to open the door and go into the room. Scott is wearing jeans and a sweater not unlike Stiles, and he's sitting on the bed – that goddamn Dread Doctors book in his hands. Stiles cringes at the hostile look he earns once he steps in. Derek is here with him, he reminds himself. He's right there closing the door behind them. No need to be afraid. He's not alone.

"What do you want?" Scott asks, coldly.

"I want to talk to you."

"No shit"

"Shut up, man. I want to talk to you about – about that night." Stiles breathes in deeply. "I don't know what Theo told you, but I want to tell you my side of the story."

Scott's eyebrow lifts, and his jaw clenches slightly. "I don't care what your side of the story is, Stiles. You – you killed that boy!"

"You don't even know why!"

"Yeah, that's because I don't care why! You killed, Stiles, and I won't accept that!" He's so angry – and Stiles doesn't know why, but it makes him angry too. Scott won't listen to him. Stiles knew that would happen – or at least he thought that was an option -, but Derek had to come and try make him think differently.

"It was an accident!"

"I don't fucking care whether it was a bloody fucking accident!"

They would probably continue shouting at each other like that for a while, but suddenly, Stiles hears a growl coming from behind him. Derek. Both Scott and he turn their heads to look at the eldest, and Derek looks downright pissed. Stiles fights the urge to shy away from him. He needs to remember that Derek actually is on his side.

"Scott, that's enough!"

"What the fuck did I do?"

"Do you even bloody listen to yourself? You're the alpha, and you 'don't fucking care' what happened to one of your pack mates?" Derek asks, completely out of his mind. "If that's how you think you can lead this pack, you're no better an alpha than Peter, oh god."

"What?!" Scott and Stiles both splutter. This is a bloody great argument though, Stiles has to admit. And Derek's got a point. Peter was a bloody bad alpha, but right now Scott isn't doing much better than that asshole of Derek's uncle that somehow managed to get back from the dead.

"You heard me. I taught you what to do, and I told you to look out for your pack. You might be young, but you're still the strongest, still their leader. They're your responsibility, Scott. You can't just let them down just because something happened that doesn't fit into your perfect little world."

Scott bares his teeth and there's a dangerous red glint in his eyes. "You of all people want to tell me what I did wrong? You were the one whose whole pack almost died because of you!"

"Scott!" Stiles gasps, shocked. Everybody knew that Boyd's and Erica's death was still a sore spot to Derek – Derek who looked ready to jump now. Like, he looked calm to the outside, but Stiles could read in the line of his shoulders and the set of his jaw just how tense he was to control his anger.

"What, Stiles?" Scott turns to him. "You brought him to fight your fight, didn't you? I don't know what you fucking want from me, but I won't do it. Okay? It's over. I won't help you anymore. The pack is gone, so we don't need to look out for each other anymore." Suddenly, he looks really really tired. Stiles carefully looks from Derek to Scott and back, startled, unsettled, unsure.

"What do you mean, the pack is gone?" Derek asks.

"None of your business." Scott replies, but his head hangs low. He looks more like the boy Stiles grew up with now than he ever did ever since Allison died. "Either of you. I would really appreciate it if you left me alone now."

Derek wants to continue, but Stiles tugs at his sleeve, makes him look at him, shakes his head. Derek looks at him like he doesn't like the idea at all, but Stiles still makes his way to the door. It's because he still knows Scott, he's still his best friend, even though he's really hurt and really angry right now. And because he knows him that Scott is tired and sad and that there's something he won't tell Stiles, something that bothers him. Something that Stiles doesn't want to add up to.

"This isn't over." Derek warns Scott, then he follows Stiles out of the house. They have barely been there five minutes, but it was enough to make a lot of things clear to Stiles. One of them: to fix his friendship with Scott, he needs to fix a lot more than just give him a proper explanation as to why Donovan died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always this is where I beg for feedback :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update, yay! This again is more of a filler - filled with a bunch of cliffhangers, yay! But I promise you, there will be some regular updates from now on ... hopefully. Life is a bitch, isn't it? Anyways, time for another warning: after this chapter, things will be getting even more AU! I thought to myself that things are horribly OOC as they are - so why shouldn't I just use this fic to fix everything I ever hated about Teen Wolf? As always, I wanna thank all of you for your support and your patience and encourage you to keep up your amazing feedback!

The air in the car is thick with silence, and Stiles can't breathe. He knows that Derek's angry, he can feel it in his bones and see it in the tense line of his shoulders and the rational part of him knows that he's not the one it's directed at. But said rational part doesn't really have anything to say much of lately. So he sits there and he needs to keep his fingers from shaking somehow and he can't breathe.

"Stiles" Derek says, "Your stink of anxiety is making me sick. It's not your fault, so would you please just stop beating yourself up about it?"

"But who says it isn't my fault?" And suddenly Stiles explodes. He's been calm for so long – calm and silent and broken, just wordlessly bearing all the shit that's been going down around him. But he can't do that anymore; he can't play nice no more. And it's pretty unfair towards Derek because he barely has anything to do with it but he's here and he sounds so harsh and Stiles can't breathe. "I was supposed to look after them! They made me promise. They don't call me the pack mom for nothing. And what did I do? Nothing! I watched Scott fall apart and I watched the pack fall apart and I didn't change a thing because I was too fucking busy worrying about stuff that's long been over and done with. Do you really think it's not my fault? Because I think we both know better, so grow the fuck up, Derek!"

Derek is eerily silent, but the harshness of the way he shifts gears as he pulls over to the side of the street shows how much he needs to concentrate to keep himself controlled. "Stiles" he says again. He seems to be saying that a lot lately. He sighs, turns off the engine and finally looks at Stiles. "It is not your fault. I don't know what went wrong with Scott, but the fact that he's being an asshole to you and to his pack is the best indicator that you're not the problem. You're too hard on yourself. Scott is the Alpha – it's his job to keep all of you in control and safe and sane. He failed. He needs to get his shit together, and right now I only have one idea how we can get him to do that. But I don't care about Scott right now; have you even seen yourself? Have you heard yourself talking lately, Stiles? You're worrying me."

And it's unfair that these few words make Stiles feel a little bit warmer inside. It's unfair because they make his anger fade – slowly, but steadily all the same. "But how can it be Scott's fault that I killed that boy? How can it be Scott's fault that I'm slowly going crazy? It's all my fault."

"You keep saying you killed him –"

"That's not the point."

"Yes it is, Stiles. From what I know, you tried to defend yourself. But Theo planted that idea in your head that somehow you did the wrong thing and you needed to hide that." Derek turns away slowly, and he looks a lot like he's lost in thought. Stiles doesn't know what it is, but something about the elder makes him shut up and wait instead of keep arguing. Maybe it's the fact that he's tired – and maybe it's the fact that he's actually the calmest when he's with Derek.

"It's Theo" Derek says after a while of silence.

Stiles doesn't understand a thing – he's been silently adoring the line of Derek's profile, to be honest. It's easier to concentrate on nothing in particular than concentrate on the shit in his head. "What?"

"He's the – he's the core to the problem." Derek says, and he suddenly starts up the engine all over again and pulls back on the street. "And there's only one way how we can face him"

So he starts talking, slowly laying out his plan – while they drive to Stiles' house, while they make some lunch, while they sit on Stiles' bed and eat. Sometimes he gets silent, like he needs to figure out further details, and sometimes they work on some point together, whenever Stiles has a better idea or isn't sure. The plan actually sounds pretty great and it makes Stiles wonder how the fuck Derek manages to come up with that in the span of an hour. In the end, it dawns on him that maybe the werewolf's some kind of evil mastermind. It's wonderful.

"The idea is perfect" Stiles says when they're done – he still hasn't wrapped his mind around just how brilliant Derek is. And hours have gone by – two or three, he's not quite sure – but the anger and the fact that he can't breathe are long gone and he's not sure whether it's the distraction or the fact that there's an actual possible solution on the way, but it makes him feel better. He feels … lighter, somehow. Like there might be some kind of hope again.

He still kind of really wants to curl up in Derek's lap and pretend the whole world stopped existing around them.

Derek shrugs and – is that some red creeping up under his trimmed stubble? Stiles isn't sure. "It'll be a lot of work. And you said so yourself, we're not sure how much convincing it's going to take. After what happened with Scott …"

"Wasn't I supposed to be the one who's sceptical and you're the knight in shining fur who saves my ass?"

"Haha, Stiles. Very funny."

They still laugh. It's short, awkward somehow – but it's a beginning. And when they stop, their eyes meet, and Stiles feels like he's drowning in the deep green of Derek's orbs. A part of him realized in the beginning that what Derek and he are doing there isn't normal. Of course, they are friends – but they aren't friends like that. They are more like … like 'with others in a group but not one on one' friends. That's an important point. An important difference. But right now, it doesn't seem like it. It's natural to have Derek around; just like it's natural to inch closer to him right now, all but crawl into his embrace. Stiles soaks up the warmth of Derek's body when Derek pulls him into his arms willingly.

And there's Derek's nose in his hair again, his breath ghosting over his scalp, his mouth moving slowly, forming words that none of them can hear but both of them know so well, understand so perfectly. And Stiles nuzzles his face in Derek's neck and knots his fingers into the material of his t-shirt, and his heart is beating harshly, but it's beating and he's alive. He's alive and he's not alone anymore and maybe things aren't okay right now, but it'll get better. With Derek there, he can almost start believing that mantra again. So he mouthes words himself, inaudible to everyone but it still feels like he's shouting them from the rooftops and judging by the tightening of Derek's grip, he understands.

For a second, Stiles again stands on the doorstep and watches Derek drive off, the words still in his ear. But this time, he knows that the words he said are true. They're nothing but the truth, and that's enough to warm his icy heart and give him strength to figure things out. Scott may have failed in keeping the pack together. But Stiles is still here, and while there's a Stiles, nobody will get the Beacon Hills Pack to unravel.

So he disentangles himself from Derek and looks at him – there's a rosy tint to his skin that hasn't been there in a long time. And he might not be seeing that, but Derek is, and it lifts his heart. "We need to make some calls"

But before Derek can answer – agree, most likely – there's a voice from the door. "First of all, you need to give some explanations."


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles isn't used to his dad being home. The Sheriff has so much on his plate, and Stiles can only imagine how hard it must be, coping with all the dead kids, the questions from the press and the lack of progress in these cases. So yeah, he does understand why his dad barely ever comes home anymore, why Stiles is the one grocery shopping and cleaning and taking care of things. There is only the issue that Stiles barely even manages to get through school without wanting to rip open his skin and never look back, but he still gets it done, somehow. To him, it feels almost like living alone by now – he can count the times he and his dad were at home the same time during the last month on one hand.

So yeah, he has every reason to be surprised to see the Sheriff standing in the doorway, staring sceptically at Derek. And yeah, he knows what Derek is and how he's connected to the pack and so on, but he also knows that he was a suspect to a murder just about two years ago, and Stiles also is pretty sure that he has at least a whiff of an idea what's going on between Derek and Stiles. He's a dad, after all. Parents know things. Parents always know things. It was also painfully obvious after Derek left. But that's another story altogether and surely has nothing to do with the grim face Stilinski is showing right now.

"Dad!" Stiles exclaims – and the clambering away from Derek looks almost perfectly like clambering closer to his father. He grins, but he also blushes, and he is flailing again. "What are you doing home? I didn't know you were coming, we would've saved you some food."

The Sheriff looks worn and tired, a lot older than just about a year ago. It pains Stiles, and maybe that's why he keeps avoiding his dad lately. He's not ready to admit it, not even to himself. "That's no problem, I just wanted to change and then get back to the station. The more important question is, what are you doing here?" He looks directly at Derek, then, and Stiles doesn't like his father's face one bit.

"Just visiting the pack" The lie comes easily from Derek, he doesn't even bat an eyelash. Stiles' adoration for the elder grows even more – nobody he ever met did so well under the Stilinski Death Stare. "Needed to check up on my friends, get updated on their well-being."

"Where are you staying for the time being?"

"I offered him the guest room" Stiles offers quickly – maybe a bit too quickly. He can't stand the idea of Derek not sleeping here. He can't stand the idea of being away from Derek, to be completely honest.

His dad doesn't seem to like that too much. "What about the apartment?"

"Sold" Derek replies.

"Ah" The Sheriff grunts, and he looks like he really wishes it was differently. Stiles can understand him, partly at least. He knows how much of a mess he's been after Derek left, no matter how on terms it was, and he knows how worried his dad was in the weeks after the day Derek went away. Of course he's worried – he doesn't know how to deal with the situation. Stiles can see it in his eyes.

"Don't you have anywhere else to stay?" The Sheriff asks.

"I could rent a hotel room" Derek offers. "If you would prefer that, sir"

Stiles has no idea what's going on in the next few seconds. The two men stare at each other, faces blank, but gazes undoubtedly meeting each other. It's like there's some kind of connection between them, something only they can understand. They hold each other's eyes for a few seconds, and suddenly the Sheriff's behaviour changes, and he seems to visibly relax. "That's not necessary. Make yourself at home, Derek, and stay as long as you want. If you're sure that's what you want."

"I am"

"Good" The Sheriff nods. "I'll leave you two to it then. I'll be gone in a few. Do you have everything you need, Stiles?"

"Would be nice if you could leave some money for groceries – I need mine for repairing the jeep" Not that he has any, but he doesn't know what else to say. His dad promises to leave the money in their usual spot, and then he leaves – to shower, change, and then go back to work. A part of Stiles wants to beg him to stay, to not leave him alone again, to hug him, at least, before he goes to save the town again. But he doesn't dare do it – doesn't dare show anything but Derek how weak he really is.

He falls back on the bed, sighs deeply as he stares at the ceiling. There are still some of the glue points where his dad and he put these glow-in-the-dark-stars when he was younger. None of these are left anymore – but right now he wishes they were. Maybe then his dark room wouldn't seem so dark anymore (not that it's dark right now. But in the night-time, when sleep won't come or nightmares won't let him rest).

"That was weird" Stiles says into the silence, because no matter how silent he became, that doesn't have to mean that he likes it.

Derek shrugs, hums nonchalantly.

Stiles only has to nudge his knuckles against Derek's leg and there's a hand in his hair, playing with the loose strands sticking out in every direction. That's what he likes most about wearing it longer – people playing with it. Not that anybody has done that of late; Malia stopped doing so a while ago, and in total only did it four times. She's not one for soft and cuddly, she's a fucking coyote. And Derek hasn't been there in a long time.

Now he is, though. And he has a plan to get Stiles' family back together. He can only hope it'll work. "Are we gonna call them now?"

"We should" Derek agrees. "We don't have much time now"

"That's what I'm thinking" Stiles nods. He allows himself one more second of enjoying the fingers tugging softly at his hair, before he straightens up and picks up his phone. "The earlier we get them all together, the better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short update you waited a long time for, and you still didn't get any answers on my cliffhangers *evil laughter in the distance* I hope you liked it. I would like to hear some guesses on what's happening next, for the more involved of you - and for the rest of you, feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since I last updated, and things have been going crazy down here. I'm hoping things will settle soon - because it's getting really interesting here, and I can't wait to see where this story leads me!

Stiles stopped believing in the strength of the pack when people started leaving. In the beginning when they first really started sticking together – somewhere around that time when they lost Erica and Boyd and gained Cora in the process – Stiles believed they were invincible. Derek was a good Alpha, though he did have questionable methods sometimes, and the pack kept looking out for each other. They were family, and nobody could hurt them. Of course, there were arguments – Stiles wasn't too fond of Jackson, and the thing between Isaac and Allison or Scott and Kira strained their relationships sometimes. But they stuck together nonetheless; they were a pack, they belonged together.

Then people left. Stiles doesn't so much blame Jackson – he was an asshole anyways. But after everything they went through, Derek and Cora left and Isaac left and Kira is never really here anymore either and … Stiles thinks it's really sad. It's sad, but he still can't be angry at them. Beacon Hills overwhelms him too, sometimes – lately more than ever. He was almost a bit jealous when he heard that Isaac left with Chris to do whatever they had planned on doing. He couldn't leave though. He had roots in Beacon Hills, a pack to support; that was what Stiles had thought back then, at least.

The fact that people are coming back home as soon as he calls them, though, it gives Stiles a bit of his faith back. He wasn't sure what would happen – with Derek, he knew, because of what happened between them. But how could he possibly know what would happen if he ever was to call Isaac and Cora and beg them to come home? He had no idea. What if everything goes wrong, what if Derek had the wrong idea? But when he has Cora on the line, there's no doubt that Derek knows what to do. She sounds delighted to hear from Stiles, and starts telling him about her life up in New York – he only asked how she was for manners – and it's a while before he can so much as start thinking about telling her why he's calling here. But Stiles would never complain; not when he feels himself smiling at the voice of the girl who's become his friend in the summer she was here, who he missed dearly.

All it takes is twenty hours. Twenty hours, and Cora and Isaac are sitting in the Stilinski living room (and god, Stiles is so glad his dad hasn't been home because well, the house has never been fuller). The two of them drove back home as soon as they called them; and Stiles hasn't really wrapped his mind around that fact. He can't believe that things are still that important to them, even though they haven't been involved in a while.

So, they're here now, and Stiles and Derek tell them what happened. Cora takes it with a face that shows no emotion at all – but her eyes are glinting with something that Stiles can't quite place but doesn't fear any less. And Isaac, Isaac is shocked.

"He said _what_?"

He hasn't changed much. He's still lanky and curly and awkward somehow, and when he was on the doorstep, he hugged Stiles so hard and long that Stiles shortly felt like he was suffocating. But he has his puppy back, so it's all a-okay.

"You heard me" Stiles says. "And anyways, that's why we called you guys here. We need to fix this. He needs to be reminded what it means to be pack. And he needs – he needs to understand that he's not alone."

Isaac lets his head hang low, runs his long fingers through his hair, tugs on the strands in his neck, and sighs deeply. "This is insane, Stiles. I can't believe it's happening."

"Me either" Stiles admits. The last day, he hasn't really had the time to dwell on things. Of course, he still feels empty somehow, and the sadness still weighs him down and he feels a lot like he could scream and cry and hide in a hole for the rest of his life. But there's also so much to do – Derek and him have been talking things through up and down. They needed to set up sleeping places for Cora and Isaac – a great alibi for why Derek is sleeping in Stiles' room. They needed to call Lydia, Malia, Liam and Kira, needed to make plans for later today with them – a short family reunion between just them before they start involving Scott again. They talked about what they needed to say, up and down, the whole thing.

And when they went to bed, Stiles was so exhausted he didn't even dream; he just slept, unsurprisingly calm wrapped up in Derek's warmth and smell. And now, now they're here. And Stiles doesn't know why he believes it, but suddenly it feels like they have a chance – maybe things can work out for them.

"But why does he think that?" Cora asks. She's been silent the whole time, so Stiles is a bit surprised at her words. "Why does he think there's no pack anymore?"

"I don't know" Stiles says. "We've been .. pretty much wrapped up in some heavy shit. We fought a lot lately. I guess he lost fate."

"Is he the only one? Who lost fate, I mean."

Stiles shrugs, blushes a bit. "I believed in the parts of the pack who were here the whole time. Then I didn't. But –"

"It's different with you" Derek says when Stiles falters. "They willingly excluded you. You had no saying about whether or not the pack continued to exist, because they shut you out."

Stiles only nods. Hearing it so frankly – so truly – stings. Of course he knew that fact from the very beginning – it's part of why he's currently hanging so low -, but hearing it out loud, it's a different story. He wishes it was different.

Isaac instantly notices the drop of Stiles' mood. "Don't worry, Stiles" he says, and his soft smile lets his dimple show. He's a cute little pup, Stiles has to admit. "We'll figure this out."

"Yeah" Cora agrees easily from her place on the armchair. "We'll get this right. That's what we're here for."

It warms Stiles' heart, and he can't help but smile. These past few weeks, he's been feeling so alone, like he was an outsider, like he didn't really have any friends. But the three people around him – Derek, Isaac and Cora -, they're on his side without questioning. They listened to his stories and instead of judging him, they took it how it came. They understood. And now they're here for him, they're ready to fight on his side; fight for the pack, fight for Stiles, fight for Beacon Hills. It feels good, better than he remembered.

"While talking about the pack – when are the others coming?" Isaac wants to know.

Stiles shrugs, checks the clock. "They should be here –" The doorbell rings just then, and he can't help but laugh. "Any moment now."

Things are going to become interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I do hope you enjoyed this, and I encourage you to leave me some feedback :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE YOU GO, an update, and we're finally making progress!! I can't believe this finally has a point. Funny thing is, while I finally have an idea how to solve the Scott-problem, I'm clueless concerning Theo - and I don't know how I can let Derek and Stiles continue the way I want them to without it feeling random or out of context. If you have ideas, please share them with me :) otherwise, enjoy, don't forget to leave some feedback, and know that I love all your support!

Lydia is on the doorstep, followed by Liam and Malia carrying a bunch of pizza boxes. Stiles smiles, greets them, and Lydia hugs him easily. She doesn't ask anything, and that's a thing that Stiles loves about her. She's his best friend, and she never rushes things. She knows when there's time for answers, and she knows when there isn't. Liam grins at him, but it looks sheepish somehow, and he can't really look Stiles in the eye. Malia hugs him, but she makes a face when she smells him.

"You smell like Derek" She tells him. "So you finally figured things out?"

Stiles shrugs – and he doesn't admit to himself that he blushes a little bit. "Yeah. No. Not really."

Malia shrugs, too. "Too bad you're not screwing yet. I thought you did."

"Oh, why, thank you, Malia." Stiles tries not to freak out because Derek is most likely able to hear them – with his werewolf super-hearing and all.

"You're welcome"

The reunion scene is heart-warming. They're all cuddling and laughing and exchanging warm words – even Liam, though he's so new he never met any of them except for Derek. It's like they know they belong together. It's a bit awkward, but they're pack. That's what Stiles had been waiting for all this time – that feeling when he sees all of his closest friends together. Well, all except one.

People find their seats around the living room table: Cora takes the armchair for herself, Lydia occupies the other. Liam and Malia are comfortable on the floor, leaving Derek and Stiles to sit on the couch with Isaac to their feet. They catch up while eating the pizzas they brought, and it feels almost like the old time: they tease each other, but they listen to their stories, truly interested in what happened. It's loud and it's warm and Stiles can't help the warm feeling growing in his chest as he rests on Derek's side, leans into him where their shoulders are pressed together. This, this is what home should feel like. Not the cold, empty loneliness that had grabbed a hold of him lately.

But he also senses that there's someone missing. He remembers Allison – with her sparkling eyes and her laugh, so cute and petite, yet so deadly. She had been a wonder, something really great, and Stiles misses her dearly. Sometimes, when he visits his mum, he visits her, too, brings her a flower or two and tells her how things are going in a hushed tone. Then, the image he has in his head changes from one dark-haired girl to another. Kira had been louder, clumsier – less gracious, like Allison had been. But he likes her just the same. He still doesn't really know why she is gone; needed to figure things out, they told him. Stiles would bet the girl was just afraid.

One thing about the picture in his mind doesn't change, though – and that's the boy both of them had been leaning against. He's pretty sure they all sense it, the absence of their alpha. Scott is a part of them, no matter how much of an asshole he's been lately. Stiles misses him; now, that he's been distracted enough that the anger is fading, he misses him, most of all. They've been a team for forever, they've always been best friends. He's not used to Scott not being around; sometimes it felt like they were two parts of a whole, even though they so obviously aren't. And Scott is missing: his bad jokes, his voice, his laugh, his simple presence in the room.

Derek nudges his shoulder into Stiles' gently, rips him from his musings. "What are you thinking about?" he asks quietly, even though whispering in a room full of werewolves is just about as effective as whispering into a microphone.

Stiles lowers his gaze at the half-eaten piece of pizza in his hands. He's only nibbled at that one, but now he lost his appetite and sets it back down on his plate. "Scott, actually"

Derek doesn't say a word, but he presses a bit closer. Isaac, too, seems to sense his distress and moves until he's fully leaning against Stiles' legs and can rest his head in his lap after Stiles puts his plate back on the coffee table. Automatically, Stiles' fingers tangle in Isaac's curls, and it's all the comfort he needs to not feel like he's falling apart all over again. He breathes, deeply, and reminds himself that he's not alone.

"Maybe it's time to get to business" Lydia says just then. Stiles couldn't object to her if he tried, and the others seemed to agree, too. They murmur their acceptance, some put their empty plates away or stuff their mouth with even more pizza, and Cora drowns her glass of coke. Then, it suddenly gets very, very silent; Stiles only notices they're staring at him when Derek nudges him again, this time with his knuckles against Stiles' thigh.

"Yeah, so, um" he starts, very eloquently, and clears his throat noisily. Now that he has all of them here, ready to listen, he doesn't really know what to say.

"Just breathe" He hears Derek – and it's so silent he's not sure if it's not just the voice in his head. "You can do this."

So Stiles breathes, and then he tells him. He starts with telling them the truth – he felt a bit outcasted lately. He doesn't blame them – why should he? They didn't do it on purpose. It was Scott who told him to stay behind, who told him he wasn't good enough or strong enough, just too human. He told them that, too, and then he got to the night of the Donovan-incident. They were shocked to hear, an Malia growled when he told about how the boy chased him through school. Liam fumbles with his hands, Lydia watches him with attentive eyes. Cora and Isaac already know everything, just as well as Derek, but they stay silent nonetheless. And he's glad they don't interrupt them.

Then, he tells them how Scott threw him out of the pack, told him to stay away. "What did he do?!" Lydia can't help but exclaim, and she looks downright frightening just then. Stiles has to ignore her – he has a run now, he can talk now. He's not so sure he would be able to continue once he stopped. Then, he tells them how he called Derek, and how they together tried to talk to him. He doesn't include the yelling, but he stresses what he said about the pack – or rather the lack of thereof.

When he's finished, it's silent all over again.

"Honestly?" Liam speaks up after a minute, and his voice squeaks just a bit. "I think he's right." Everybody save Derek who doesn't show any emotion ever looks at him like he lost his mind. "No, no, no, you have to get this! It's not our fault the pack is – undone, or whatever you call it. It's his fault. Haven't you noticed how hard he's been playing us? We've been working our asses off to get those chimeras under control and to save our friend, and all he does is – sorry to say so – scratch his balls and watch from a distance. At least it feels like that. He let them die, even though he could've changed things. It's – it's sick."

"And Theo, he told us what to –"

Lydia shushed Malia with a piercing look. "Don't talk about Theo. You didn't get it, did you? He's actually the one who's the reason why we're in this dilemma. Somehow, he got into Scott's head, planted ideas there that don't fit in with his morals. Our morals. He's – dangerous, I'd say, and we need to have caution."

"I think you're right" Derek agrees. "I haven't met him yet, but everything just seems to turn back to him."

"Also, he smells strange." Liam throws in. "Wrong, somehow"

Malia stares at them gaping, and Stiles sighs. He knew she had a crush on that guy, but he wouldn't have thought it was that bad.

"True, Mal" Stiles agrees with their friends. "Do we need to get over it again?"

Malia stares a moment longer, then lets her head fall down in defeat and shake her head. "Guess you're right."

"One thing is clear" Cora says. "We need to change things. Get this back under control. It's kind of obvious that you won't defeat these weird doctors as long as you didn't get your shit together."

They all agree.

And that's when Isaac says something for the first time. "And I might just know what to do."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all - I AM SO SORRY!! University really got to me, really kept me busy, also my boyfriend. A lot of shit went down while I was absent. But after all this time, I finally got around to write another thing. It's really really short, but it's the beginning of something! And I hope I can finally get around to writing this more often, now.

They decide that Lydia is supposed to lure Scott to where they want to corner their leader, because she’s just about the only one he still listens to. So she calls him, tells him to come over to hers in an hour, and she talks about there being a problem, with what she found out about the Dread Doctors, or something. Stiles doesn’t listen, not really. All of a sudden, after they talked for hours, he’s overwhelmed with the situation. There are too many people, too much noise, too little space for him. His throat tightens, and he’s not able to stay in the room for just a second. He mutters an excuse, and all but flees from the room. His head is pounding, his heart is too, and he can’t think straight. He just needs to get out of there.  
His destination is the garden – it feels like a bit of a safer place. It’s outside, a soft breeze rustles the trees, and he can breathe. He walks down the path to a small bench that’s been there forever; his mum actually loved to sit there and just breathe. That’s what Stiles does now, too: he sits, and he breathes. And after a while his head clears, and he starts thinking about stuff.  
He still cannot wrap his head around the fact that the whole pack came together to solve this. It feels weird, really; he’s so used to being alone, to working out his issues all on his own, that having them here, taking action for him, that’s stange. He doesn’t know what to do with the group in his living room. They’re his pack, he knows. They’ll be for the rest of his life, too, probably. But it’s – too much, just. He’s not used to it anymore. He wishes he were. He knows he’s supposed to be happy. They took all this on them to help him. He knows.  
He just doesn’t understand why, exactly.  
There’s that voice in Stiles’ head, too, whispering doubts. Shouting them, sometimes. What if it’s not what he thinks it is? What if they don’t help him? What if they can’t? What if everything turns out wrong and in the end, they end up hurt – or worse? What if this is just the calm before the storm? What is he supposed to do then?  
His view is unfocused, but he notices the first few fallen leaves at his feet. They’re brown, crumbling, rustled by the wind. All life is ending, sooner or later. All connections dry up, die. Pieces fall off all the time.  
Stiles wonders if he witnesses an end now, too.  
The veranda door opens and closes silently. Stiles notices, but he doesn’t react. Doesn’t look up. He just breathes. He doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t need to – because his instincts tell him who it is right away – his body knows how Derek smells, what his presence feels like. He doesn’t need to do anything when it’s just Derek.  
Derek slowly walks up to Stiles, and for a second, he just stands next to him. Stiles can hear his breath; and something in his chest settles. “You okay?” Derek asks, then. His fingers ghost over the tense line of Stiles’ shoulders as he sits down. Then, they advance down his spine. When he pulls Stiles into his side, the boy willingly curls up into him. Stiles lets out a heavy breath, and nuzzles his nose into Derek’s shoulder.  
“Don’t know” Stiles admits quietly. He shuts his eyes, listens to Derek’s heartbeat. It’s strong and calm, reassuring. “Are we doing the right thing?”  
“There’s nothing else we can do” Derek replies. His thumb draws small half-circles on Stiles’ side. “I’m sure we’ll work something out.”  
Stiles had heard these words before – so many times. They mostly always were lies. People tried, really tried to work stuff out; but it never worked for him. It always got worse. He has no reason to believe Derek, none at all.  
But he still does.  
And then, suddenly, there’s another thought entirely that consumes him, fills him, moves him. He sits up, has to look at Derek. The messy hair, the dark eyebrows, the soft eyes, the stubble on his jaw and cheeks. He’s beautiful, Stiles thinks. There’s something else, too, something warm. He doesn’t dare name it, not yet.  
“You told me you’d come back” Stiles says instead. “And you did”  
They never talked about that last day. The conversation they had. It has been there from the moment Derek arrived, and before that as well. Whenever Stiles thought of Derek, whenever Stiles sees Derek, it’s always there: the last moments spent together, those words they exchanged. There’s so much stuff they have to figure out, talk about. And he’s not sure if this is the right time, but it’s out now and he needs to finally get – something, at least.  
“Of course. I always will” Derek says. And then, quietly, “You know why.”  
Stiles knows what he means. He stares ahead, at the spot where the old set of swings used to stand before it collapsed under the mass of snow a storm brought a couple of years ago. He doesn’t know if this is enough, though.  
“You said we’d work things out then”  
“I know” Derek nods. Their shoulders are brushing, still. Derek’s firm and warm and just the little bit of contact fills Stiles with something good he can’t explain. “And we will. We always do.”  
They stay like that, watch the clouds run over the sky. Sometimes, their shoulders brush, or their fingers find each other. They breathe at the same rhythm, and never move away from each other. It’s good. Stiles breathes, Stiles is alive. It’s not alright yet. There are still so many problems to be solved, but it feels okay. He’s settled now, somehow. Because the group there in the room, those are not just any people. They’re pack. His best friends.  
And of course, right now it’s too much. Everything is. He lost his balance, he lost his best friends, and before things can even out, he needs to find those again. And they will help him. He’s scared, he really is. But it feels like it will be alright. Maybe. Probably.  
“Stiles” Derek softly says. His fingers sweep over his knuckles in a soft caress. “You’ll be alright.”  
“Yeah.” Stiles answers. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to figure things out with Scott. He’s not sure if they’ll be able to figure things out with the Dread Doctors and everything else. But Derek’s on his side, and his friends are there to help him. So maybe, just maybe, things will work out, for once.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while again - but I finally found motivation and creativity to work with and I feel like things are finally getting better around here. So maybe you will see the end of the story in a couple of weeks or at the end of the summer. I don't promise anything, but we will see.

“Can I just get out here?” 

They’re on their way to Lydia’s house, over in upperside Beacon Hills. Stiles is driving, with Isaac and Cora in the backseat. Derek is sitting beside him quietly, and the air is thick with anticipation. 

“I don’t want to do this” 

“Stop whining” Cora says, but she doesn’t sound half as annoyed as the words appear to be. “You wanted to find a solution, and now we have one.” 

“And it’s a good solution, if you ask me.” Isaac mentions. 

“It’s not!” Stiles knows it is. He heard the plan himself, and he agreed to it. But now that they’re actually on their way to get this done, he has no clue how this is supposed to work out. Why should they make Scott listen to him? And how could they do that? Could they get through to him just because they were wolves? To be honest, Stiles doubts that there is something like a pack bond left – it’s been month since they so much as stayed in the same state. And even if there’s still a bond between them, it will surely be no more than something like old friendship. 

Besides, Scott knows Scott. Once he believes into something, there’s nothing that can change that. 

“Stiles” Derek barely looks at him, but it is enough to get Stiles to breathe. “It’s our only chance. You can’t turn around now.” 

He knows that. He’s been telling this himself ever since Lydia shooed them out of the garden. But the voices in his head are still too loud, and keep telling him it wouldn’t work out. And it probably wouldn’t. He killed a mutant – that made him a suspect in Scott’s eyes, not a victim. Could anything change that? Stiles really didn’t know. 

“I know” Stiles mumbles, and shifts gears to turn into Lydia’s street. “I know” 

He wants to run away, hide in some dark corner that keeps him hidden from everything and everyone, and never come out again. Instead, he pulls up the huge driveway of the Martin mansion. His stomach churns when he sees Scott’s motorcycle already standing there, he himself waiting on the veranda because nobody has let him in yet. Their eyes meet over the distance, and Stiles isn’t sure if he ever moved his gaze away so quickly. He doesn’t want this. 

But now it’s too late. He can feel his pulse in every part of his body when he turns off the engine, and his throat chokes up. He knows the symptoms, but he doesn’t allow the panic to take control over his body. He closes his eyes while Isaac and Cora are already getting out of the jeep, and he only notices that his hands are cramping around the steering wheel, when Derek’s finger close around them lightly. 

It makes him jump, but when Stiles sees the worried look on Derek’s face, his pulse starts settling again. He sends him a broken half-smile, and Derek softly squeezes his fingers until he can take them in his hand. Stiles can feel his heartbeat and his breathing, and suddenly it’s so easy to relax. He meets his eyes, and Derek is so close to him – it feels so good to have him here again. He wishes he could just lean over and kiss him; and he knows that urge just too well. Instead, he smiles again, a little surer of the action now. Derek smiles back, and then it’s time to get out of the car. 

Everyone lingers on the veranda already. Lydia and Malia are by the door, Cora and Liam hovering on the steps. And Isaac stands right in front of Scott. Stiles knows what was between them, what could’ve happened if the whole Allison thing hadn’t happened. And everyone is silent and just waits while Isaac stares at the alpha. Nothing is said, but the air is thick with – _something_ that has Stiles hesitating, waiting by the car. Watching. 

“We need to talk” Isaac says that, and his voice sounds choked up a bit. Maybe he just needs to clear his throat. 

“Is that why I’m here?” Scott asks defensively, and suddenly his eyes narrow. “Are you here to make me talk to Stiles? Since when are you on his side, huh? You never liked him.” 

Stiles would’ve laughed if the situation wasn’t so serious. 

“We figured things out” Isaac says. “And you two need to do that, too.” 

Scott huffs. “So the whole lot of you came to do what, exactly?” 

“We want to talk to you” Lydia says. 

“And we want to talk some sense into you” Liam adds. 

“And we’re here to make you listen if you don’t want to” Cora has a smug little grin on her face, and she looks like a predator she really isn’t. 

Scott glares at them. “I don’t have time for that” 

“You should” Derek says calmly. “You’re the alpha” 

Stiles feels like he wants to hide behind him when Scott looks at him and growls. 

“I still don’t have time now. We found a clue how to bring down the Dread Doctors” 

Everyone gets silent after that. Stiles wonders what that means. Does it mean that they finally found a way to stop the mess that’s been going on lately? They’ve been working on that for weeks, and now – now that everything went down the drain – Scott found something. And – didn’t he just speak in plural? 

“What do you mean?” Liam is the first one of the lot to get his voice back. 

“I mean” Scott answers, “That Theo and I followed some hints, and we finally found a way to get them back into that book of theirs” 

“Theo and you” Stiles growls. Of course that was what Scott would mean. Because Theo obviously is his new best friend. That’s too much. He hates the feeling in his guts – the pure, hot jealousy that threatens to eat him up. Scott hates his guts now, he knew it. And he already found a new friend he could trust, a new partner in crime. 

Sometimes, Stiles wishes the whole thing with the werewolves wouldn’t have happened to them. 

“Yes, Stiles, Theo” Scott replies angrily. “I needed help, and he’s obviously closest to them. We spent a lot of time with Deaton, and now we found a solution. An antidote, if you will. And we’ll be fine after.” His eyes find Derek. “I did what you wanted me to do – I found a solution to protect the pack. Are you happy now?” 

“No we’re not happy” Lydia interrupts. With her messy bun and her crossed arms she looks so terribly terrifying that Stiles remembers why he used to be in love with her. “You’re working with them – the reason why everything is falling apart right now. We want our leader back – we want you back. You need to listen to Stiles, and then we get things figured out together. We will stop them; but first, there’s somebody who needs to talk to you.” 

Scott hesitates. Lydia always had a strong hold on her. But he doesn’t cave in, not yet. 

“Scott” Isaac takes a step forward, a step closer to him. There’s nothing predatory in his movements, and when Scott looks up at him, Stiles isn’t sure if he’s allowed to watch this. “Please talk to Stiles. He needs you. We need you.” 

“Are you back for good now?” Scott asks. 

“I don’t know.” Isaac says. “Depends if there’s a pack here that needs my support. Right now, I can’t see one.” 

Scott sighs, and then his aggressive posture sinks into something defensive and sad. “Okay. Let’s go inside, and let’s talk.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this! Feedback is appreciated!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, I know. But university and the flat as well as my "social responsibilities" have been keeping me busy lately, so I didn't have much time for writing. But the semester is over now, and it's the second night shift in a week where I can write, so here's a new chapter. We're reaching the end, I feel. I am not quite sure, though.  
> As always I really would appreciate some feedback, some requests, some ideas. Just talk to me. And enjoy reading!

Stiles wants to listen. He really wants to. He wants to hear Scott talking about what happened with Theo and what they’ve figured out. But he gets distracted by things. He gets distracted by the way Scott moves, gesturing around and literally getting better by the minute just from being with his friends – his pack. He watches Isaac being drawn to Scott as always, getting closer to him with every passing minute, never taking his eyes off the alpha. He watches Lydia stand there like she’s the actual alpha, staring them all down with her dark, dangerous eyes. He watches Malia and Liam sit side by side, watching Scott, sometimes shooting a comment to one another. He watches Cora and Derek sitting beside him, listening intently.  

Scott talks about the conflict he had with Theo before they found the strength to work together against the common enemy. And Stiles doesn’t really get it, doesn’t really understand that this is happening now. They’re talking, and nobody seems to remember that Scott has misbehaved in every way an alpha can. Stiles can’t do this. He cannot sit here and pretend nothing’s happened. Scott was an asshole the last few weeks  - he betrayed them all, in one way or another. And now Stiles is supposed to trust him in the same way as before; if you ask him, this is just about impossible. That has the anger bubbling up in him again, and he feels his fingers clawing at his arms again before he can stop himself. 

Scott continues talking, explaining the way they’ve been working – with lure, and with the novel they found with one of the first girls that went missing. Stiles doesn’t understand why he would be working with Theo. Yes, okay, it’s always good to have a spy in the line of the enemy. But that counts for their side as well as for the Dread Doctor’s side. So Stiles would not trust Theo in any way; and he honestly thought that at least Deaton would think the same. But even the vet seems to have decided to let Theo in and to work with him. Stiles doesn’t understand that the least of all things – that Scott has been going crazy he knows. But Deaton has fallen for the farce too, apparently. And that disturbs Stiles. 

“Scott, we don’t care how you’ve been bromancing with Theo” Lydia finally interrupts his talking, and Stiles startles a little bit, because he was only prepared for Scott’s voice. “What have you found out?” 

Scott glares at her, but he still answers her question. “We found out that there’s a specific of ingredients that form some kind of a hex that would ban their spirits back to the book. But we need to get those hexes into their helmets, or masks or whatever that is.” He starts explaining what kind of ingredients they were going to need. He also starts explaining how Theo and his pack are planning on overpowering them and more or less ripping their heads off to ban them. 

“But we can need any help we can get, I guess” Scott ends, shooting a small smile into the room. 

“Any?” Stiles asks, and his lips are as dry as his vocal chords appear to be. He clears his throat. “I want to help, too.” 

“You can probably help Deaton prepare the hexes, but we’re almost done.” 

“And when you attack them?” 

“Stiles. You know you cannot help there” And he talks like he is talking to an annoying child, and wants to get rid of him. “Besides, I doubt that the others would be too fond of seeing you there after you killed one of them.” 

Stiles can’t believe it – now, after things have seemingly gotten better, Scott dares to bring it up again! It’s like some chord rips inside of him, and suddenly all the anger explodes inside of him, fills him up, consumes him. Scott never listens to him, treats him like a burden, and he never believes him! Stiles doesn’t know why. Even after all these things that happened, things shouldn’t have changed between them. They’ve been friends for years, almost all their lives. Nothing teared them apart – and for the longest times, Stiles believed that nothing would ever tear them apart. But now he looks at Scott and all he sees is a stranger; somebody he used to know, but now he has no idea who he is anymore. He realizes that it’s over now, and now he has no reason to hold him back anymore. 

“Do you really think that, Scott? Who do you think I am that you believe I could kill somebody? I didn’t, you know? I didn’t kill that fucker. _He_ wanted to kill _me_! He chased me through half the school while you were too busy doing something else and not helping me. And so I climbed up that – I climbed up there, and he chased me, but then he fell and – there was so much blood, oh god, and I couldn’t help it, I was just so relieved! But then I felt bad, but before I could do anything, it was too late and –“ 

Stiles feels his heartrate speeding up, he feels the sheen of sweat on his skin. He sees the dots dancing through his vision, the black frames around it. He knows what’s coming, but he doesn’t care. He hates it, but now he needs to tell all the truth, and nothing but that and he needs Scott to know what really happened. 

“But I – did – not – kill – him! So fuck you for believing that I did, and fuck you for thinking I would be capable of doing that, but not of defending myself. Fuck you, Scott McCall!” And Stiles can’t do it anymore. He’s so worked up and feels the anxiety wash over him as well as the fury as the panic attack that starts to overwhelm him tightens around his throat. So he storms out of the room, away from a shocked, open-mouthed Scott, a worried Derek and the rest of the pack. Before Stiles knows, he’s in his jeep, thrusting in the rear gear violently and hitting the gas as hard as he dares. The jeep screams as Stiles hits the brakes, shifts gears, and drives off with the engine howling like a wolf. 

He just drives for a while without seeing where he goes. He notices other cars, red traffic lights, passer-bys, and he wouldn’t cause an accident, it’s not that. But his vision is blurry with tears, and he doesn’t breathe, he can’t breathe, and he can’t really think except for unfocused impressions of things he would think about if he could think clearly. He shifts his gears too late, only when the screaming of the engine pierces through the storm in his mind, and then that one time it’s too late. There’s a screech, and then the engine is quiet, and all Stiles can do is slow down carefully until he pulls into a stop in the quiet deserted suburban road. 

He can’t believe his jeep gave out on him again. Stiles shoves at the wheel, even though he knows it’s not the fault of his car – he knows how to drive her, he should be used to it. Instead, he had been too careless and had treated her like shit. If he had been able to think straight, he would never have driven her like this. But it was too late now. He was stranded. It had picked up raining, and through the thin walls of the car he could feel the cold creeping in. He didn’t have a thicker jacket with him, only his worn hoodie. But he had to go out there and try to fix her. Maybe he could fix her again. During the last weeks, the jeep had been the only thing he had been able to fix – but she got worse with the day, and with every time he fixed something, it got harder. 

It took Stiles a while to get himself together enough so he could get out of the car and open the hood. There wasn’t even any smoke or anything, there were no broken wires or anything. There was nothing he could fix. This time, the engine was broken for good, something inside it where he never dared touching anything. He had no idea where he could take the money from – and his dad already had enough problems on his plate. What now? He wasn’t even sure where he was; all he knew was he wanted to get home. And now he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave her alone out here. 

Stiles didn’t even know what made him angry. Suddenly he screamed, kicked the jeep and pounded his fists on the closed hood. The rain washed over him coldly, and every gust of wind sent shivers down his spine. The tears that suddenly overflowed mingled with the cold water, and he wiped them away, but it was useless. He was useless. He messed up with Scott, he messed up with the jeep, he messed up everything he touched. He probably shouldn’t even be alive. 

Stiles sunk down by his car, cold and wet and miserable, unable to stop crying. He needed to get himself together, he knew that. But for now, he just sat there and let everything that nagged him wash over him, take control over him. He was done with trying to keep it together, and he didn’t have the strength to do so if he tried. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE
> 
> This chapter is ... different. One of your comments actually gave me the idea - at first, i wanted to go another way from here. but well, nothing's as it seems, right? Enjoy and don't forget some comments/feedback :)

Stiles doesn’t notice that he passes out. Sometimes, the anxiety, the straight-down panic consumes him whole, and he cannot feel anything but that. It’s normal. Usually, it doesn’t happen on the street, so he doesn’t care too much. But this is not his home, not his room – the only place he’s felt safe ever since things happened. But now he’s in a part of Beacon Hills where he doesn’t know a thing, and his jeep is dead and he’s absolutely helpless. Derek would freak out. His father would go mad. Luckily enough, they didn’t know. 

Stiles never thought he’d wake up somewhere where he also doesn’t know a thing, but also isn’t anywhere near fresh air. When his eyes get used to the dimmed, greenish light, they make out bare concrete walls, bare wires and pipelines – he is in a cellar of some sort. Why is he in a cellar? How did he get there? Is he dead? Do people think he is dead? 

It takes Stiles a while to turn his head – he still feels dizzy. He knows how he usually feels after a panic-attack-blackout, and that’s not it. His limbs feel heavier than they should, and the dizziness also isn’t usual. But he hasn’t eaten much, so. He wonders what – and who – he’s going to see, and he ponders a lot of things: Theo, Derek, Scott, the pack, nothing at all, some police men ... he doesn’t think that he would see some kind of morbid laboratory. There are all kinds of liquids and things and everything screams medicine, chemistry, alchemy of the 18th century. 

For a second, Stiles wonders who in hell could use shit like this. Then, he remembers. He remembers grotesque masks and weird noises, he remembers fear and fighting. He remembers the Dread Doctors, and things turn upside down. He’s – no, that can’t be. How could they get him? He tries to remember how he got unconscious. He tries to remember shaking and not breathing and he remembers, but those are memories from further back. But he remembers a sting and then – then nothing. Stiles tries to touch the spot on his neck that with the right memory starts hurting, but his hands are bound to whatever he’s lying on. 

He swears under his breath – his wrists and ankles are bound to some kind of chair, as well as his middle. This can’t really be happening. The panic is nagging at him again, daring to overpower him, but Stiles swallows it down with everything he can. He needs to stay conscious, and focused – he has to get that fog out of his head that still hasn’t really cleared up after he woke up. He needs to find out where he is, if those asshat-Doctors are really keeping him captive or if it’s something or someone else, and he needs to figure out how the fuck he can get out of here. He knows that the pack and Scott and Theo’s pack are probably figuring out a way to stop the Dread Doctors right this moment. But he doubts that that means they were going to find him.  

This is insane. 

What is he supposed to do? 

Stiles tries to stay calm and listens intently. At first, there is only silence and the slight bubble of the liquids. Then, there’s something else. Faintly in the beginning, it gets louder with the minute – steps? Foot steps? And then breathing. And then? What then? He listens intently, because suddenly the noises seem to stop altogether. It’s really quiet for a few moments before a door creaks open behind Stiles. It’s only then that Stiles hears it – the clicking and screeching that can only mean one thing: he’s really been kidnapped by the Dread Doctors. 

He doesn’t struggle against his bonds, knowing they would hold anyways. He pretends to be – asleep, or unconscious, anything but awake, but his eyes keep track of everything he can hear. It’s not much, really. Just the usual Dread Doctor things. But he’s scared anyway, and if they’re anything like the supernatural creatures he knows so far, they will know he’s awake by the speed of his heart. But for now, they ignore him, and that’s enough. 

He doesn’t know how long he just lies there, heart thumping heavily, trying to keep his breathing low and even. Small beads of sweat run down his sides and back and just about everywhere, and he just wants to leave. He hated being with the pack and he hated talking to Scott and he hated his Scott being absent, but this is worse. This, if you ask him, is absolute hell. He’s one hundred percent helpless, victim to a strong dark power that is far bigger than everything he is and knew. It feels like being with the nogitsune again, and that scares him more than he’d ever admit out loud. 

His thoughts had drifted him away from reality soon enough, and before he knows it, Stiles is ripped out of his thoughts by movement in front of his eyes. His vision sharpens and reveals one of the Doctors over him, and Stiles feels his gaze piercing through him even though he can’t see eyes or anything close to that. Instantly, his pulse leaps, and it takes him everything he can to fight the urge to push against the cuffs and try to break free. 

He doesn’t know what they’re trying to do. He doesn’t know why he’s here. All he knows is that he’s face to face with their enemy of the term now, and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s scared, he’s fucking terrified, and he’s all alone. Scott is right. He is weak. He is too weak to do anything but be a burden, and they don’t deserve a friend like him. Maybe he’ll die here when they try to make them one of their toys, and maybe that’ll be the right thing. Stiles doesn’t know anything anymore. 

Light reflects of a needle, and before Stiles realizes what is happening, they have injected whatever there is into him. He wants to scream, but he seems to have lost all control over his body. He wants to convulse and fight, suddenly, but his limbs don’t obey him. He just stares as the metal masks in horror, in anger, and there’s literally nothing he can do, now. He can’t even fight the dark dots closing in on his vision, even though he swore himself not to lose consciousness. 

But eventually, Stiles’ world gets dark, and he loses touch with reality once more. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just checked the dates AND ROCK BOTTOM TURNS A YEAR OLD TODAY I can't believe it's been that long already.  
> So many of you like how it turned out! I'm so happy you like what I'm doing here, you can't imagine. And since I have a lot of time to write at work, here's a new chapter - not that long, but next chapter is going to be a showdown, so!  
> Enjoy, and don't forget to leave some feedback behind - I love hearing your opinions and theories! x

Stiles dreams.

  
_He’s back at the Hale House. Only it’s not the burned ruin but built up again. It got really pretty, cream on the outside, with dark-wooden windows and doors. There are flowers on the veranda, and his jeep, working again obviously, stands next to a Camaro he identifies as Derek’s. The forest around them is alive with the sounds and smells of early summer. It’s not an angsty place anymore; it’s home. Stiles stands and watches – Derek and Cora are working in the garden, the man mowing the lawn and the girl looking after the flowers. She’s not really a girl anymore, she’s a beautiful young woman. Stiles can feel that he’s grown up, too, and when he looks down at himself, he’s wearing a deputy’s clothes._

  
_Stiles is still wondering what he’s seeing and feeling there, but it’s good – he feels comfortable and relaxed, happy. In that moment, Lydia steps out of the door. She wears pretty clothes as always, and looks everything like a professional business woman. She sees him and waves happily._

  
_“You’re finally home!”_

  
_That has the others looking up, too. Derek grins brightly at him; he hasn’t changed much to what he last looked in Stiles’ reality, but when he looks at Stiles, it seems like he brightens up even more. He turns off the mower, and steps up to Stiles. It seems like the most normal thing to step into Derek’s embrace and answer to the gentle kiss he receives._

  
_“Hi” Derek mumbles, and smiles softly at him. Stiles smiles back and steals another kiss, simply because he knows he can. He feels how much he loves Derek, and when he looks at him, Derek loves him just the same._

  
_It’s a good world he dreams of. He lives in the Hale House with Derek and Cora, and the rest of the pack more or less lives there, too. It’s normal to have Malia and Liam just chilling on the couch in front of the TV when he comes home, or Lydia and Jackson – Jackson! – preparing dinner when Derek and Stiles come home from grocery shopping. His dad is happy, the town is calm, and Stiles has a good job. They’re content, settled, grown up. Life is relaxed – there are no Alpha maniacs, there are no insane Doctors trying to kill teenagers. Stiles feels good there, with his friends and family all safe and content. When full moon comes around, he listens to them running through the woods, listens to them being a pack together – and he’s not surprised at all to see Derek’s eyes glowing red just before he turns full wolf. He’s also not surprised that at the end of the night, the big black wolf curls up at his side, carefully lapping at his face before falling asleep just as the first rays of sunshine touch the world._

  
Stiles knows it’s not real. Stiles knows he’s in danger in his reality. But he still doesn’t want to wake up. He wants this future to happen to him. He wants to see Lydia and Jackson in love again, planning their wedding and their first child. He wants to see Malia hopelessly flirting with Cora and Liam unable to resist Mason’s charm anymore. That’s what he wants – not darkness and wet cold whenever the dream slips away from him. But he holds onto the dream for as long as he can, and fights against waking up until it is too late.

  
He has lost every sense of reality when he wakes up. It’s dark around him except for some loomy green glow, and he has no idea where he is, what day it is or what time of said day. He couldn’t tell how long he’s been out of it if he had to, and if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t want to know either. This place is his very own hell, and while he was asleep – or unconscious, whatever – he could at least get away from it for a while.

  
Instead of missing the dream – that doesn’t seem to be fading from memory -, Stiles shakes off the last of his tired feeling and concentrates on his body. He feels where the needle had penetrated his skin, and he’s got a slight headache. His ankles and wrists are sore from his restraints and his stomach hurts from emptiness. But he doesn’t feel different. He feels exhausted, his limbs are heavy, and he could definitely eat a bunch of stuff right now. And he’s thirsty. But it doesn’t seem like they did anything to him. On the other hand – would he really feel it? Stiles doesn’t know, he never made the effort to listen to one of the chimeras.

  
He then tries to make out things in the room. It appears to be still the same room he was in before he was knocked out, and he’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing, now. He tries to hear something, but it’s quiet. He only hears his breathing, the rustle of his clothes, and the blood rushing through his veins powered by his strong, too-fast heart beat. There are no changes. What is he supposed to do? He struggles against his restraints one more, but they only cut into his skin, so he has to stop before he seriously injures himself.

  
What is he supposed to do now? There’s nothing Stiles can do but to wait. He’s not strong enough to free himself. Because he’s not a werewolf, the others can’t find him with their pack bond. He’s all alone in this, and he’s not able to help himself. He feels the self-hate wash over him once more. Maybe they were right – maybe he’s really just a burden and maybe they’re really better off without him. He feels a lot like crying then, but he doesn’t allow himself to let go; that would be like losing the rest of his dignity.

  
But he wishes Derek were there with him now – to save him, to comfort him, to be his knight in shining armour. Stiles wants to be with him, wants to – he wants to be in love with him like he was in that dream. That’s everything he wants right now, and everything he needs. Just a little peace, and a lot of rest in Derek’s arms.

  
Suddenly, the door to the room – the one Stiles can’t see – flies open. His heart jumps, and for a second he hopes, he begs, he wonders ... but it’s not Derek, nor anyone else to come and save him. It’s one of the Dread Doctors, and he’s got something in his hands that looks a lot like the thing that knocked him out the last time, too. Stiles struggles now, and even though his throat is raw, he screams until there’s no breath left in his lungs. But the Doctor still gets him, and the world turns black once more.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work gives me room to write, and you give me the motivation. So here it is - two days, two chapters. Alias, the showdown. A bit different than I wanted it to be thanks to your amazing ideas.
> 
> I just want you to know that I read EVERY SINGLE COMMENT and I APPRECIATE EVERY SINGLE ONE. So please, leave some feedback - even things that criticize the pace of the fic (yes I saw you, and don't you worry, you'll get your action soon!) or other things. I will give my best to answer, but since I don't want to spoiler you, I will not answer everything. But I see you, and I love every feedback I get.
> 
> So leave some feedback please, and stay tuned (and patient)!  
> Enjoy!

Stiles awakes merely a few minutes later. He knows that because the Dread Doctor that just tried to inject something that unsettlingly looks like that fluid they used to create the chimeras lies on the floor in front of him. He has no idea how he got there – or how he, himself, managed to stand over him. His capturer didn’t seem to be keen on letting him leave, but yet, here Stiles is, standing upright, unbound, free to run – though he doubts he could do that, now. His knees are weak and his head is pounding. He feels like he could collapse any second now.

And anyway – how the bloody hell did he do that? He checks that the Doctor is out cold, and then he takes a closer look at that operation table or whatever that was that he’s been laying on for god knows how long. The bounds are – broken. They really got ripped apart by a strength that could impossibly come from outside the bonds. Stiles looks down at his wrists. They are bleeding slightly, and feel really sore. What does this mean? Could it be that -? No. That was impossible. Stiles is only human. Stiles doesn’t have the strength to do something like that.

 _If only Derek were here._ The thought comes all of a sudden, and Stiles is surprised by it himself. He is in a situation which he doesn’t understand and doesn’t know how to get out of – and his only thought is that he wants to be with Derek? That is weird. More than weird. But he can’t seem to be getting rid of the thought, not even when he makes for the door, more stumbling than actually walking, unsteady with dots flickering through his vision.

He needs to make it out of here quickly. He doesn’t know what he did to that Dread Doctor, and how long he’s going to stay unconscious. He has no idea where the other two of them are, yet alone where he is. And he wants to know if the pack is looking for him. If anyone is out there, wondering where he is, worrying about him. His dad will worry, probably. Or he just thinks that now that his friends are back in town, they’re staying up late catching up with each other. Derek will worry, most likely. He can actually smell and sense that Stiles hasn’t been out there anywhere for a while – and he’ll most likely have found the jeep by now. He wonders if Derek’s told his dad, yet. He wonders, too, while he walks down the dark corridor with one hand on the wall, if anyone has taken care of his jeep. He just left her there to rot in the rain, hood up and everything. That should be conspicuous. But how can he know?

He doesn’t even know what day it is today. And he really needs help.

The corridor seems familiar somehow, with the pipes running overhead and the flickering lights. But Stiles is too unfocused to actually make out something. Maybe they had been here when they went looking for the Dread Doctors and or the chimeras. That moment already feels a couple years back. So much has changed since then. But maybe he’s also only imagining things – those corridors in the earth always look the same, dark and dangerous, no windows, lots of dread and angst. He can feel the fear creeping up his spine and tries to hurry up – but since he actually is close to passing out, he has to slow down again to stay conscious.

_If only Derek were here._

He comes to a parting of the corridor and turns right simply because he’s been holding onto the right wall all the time. He doesn’t even care if it’s the right way. Part of him believes that he won’t make it out of here anyways – he’ll surely pass out any minute now, and then they’re going to find him and bring him back in that creepy laboratory at the end of the hallway. It’s not that he doesn’t want to escape. But being realistic, he knows that that’s not what’s going to happen. They’re going to get him, and they’re going to turn him into god knows what, and then he’s going to die.

_If only Derek were here._

All of a sudden, there are noises. Stiles can barely hold himself upright, and he can barely see because his vision is already turning black at the edges; but he can still hear. What he hears? There are footsteps, of that he is sure. He is less sure of how many people and of what kind of people. It could be anyone. Construction workers checking up on the tunnels (which he doubts). A few of the chimeras, set loose to find him. The Dread Doctors. The Dread Doctor he knocked out somehow. Or maybe it’s the pack. He’s not sure. He doesn’t have a bond to them. He doesn’t belong to them.

_If only Derek were –_

_Those are not footsteps._

There’s a different noise now, too – the rustle off fur, the scratch of claws on concrete under all those shoes-on-concrete sounds. But when he looks up, he’s not going in the direction of that noise. He is directly going into the direction of where two of the Dread Doctors have just turned around a corner. He sees the moment they notice him in their faces, even though they have these horrible steampunk masks that not even the worst cosplayers or roleplayers would consider to wear. Stiles startles, tries to turn, and manages to knot his feet together in a way that he falls before he’s even fully turned, face-planting himself on the concrete. Stiles smells more than feels the blood rushing out of his nose, but he ignores it. He scrambles back to his feet again, and tries to get away.

The clicking noises are coming closer with every agonizing step.

Stiles is trying to get away, but he knows he’s failing and that his efforts will be useless in the end. But he doesn’t stop – he needs to fight for himself. He has no idea where that urge got from because before he was ready to just give up and let them kill them. But now, he drags himself forward as fast as he possibly can, even though his vision is blurry and he can barely make out the floor in contrast to the wall. Now, no noise makes it past the sound of blood rushing through his ears. By the way – he rubs the blood from under his nose with his bare hand and then smears it all over his ruined jeans. The feeling of a nose bleed is disgusting enough with a tissue at hand, but like this?

_If only Derek were here._

Then he would be fine. Then he would be safe. Then, things would be alright. And not fucked like this. But Derek is not here to help him. Nor are any of the others – and don’t get Stiles wrong, he would really appreciate any help right now, even Scott’s. he doesn’t feel ready to do this alone, and he’s pretty sure that he won’t make it all on his own. But there were footsteps, right? Like, other footsteps than those of the Dread Doctors. Maybe there was someone who could help him. But he’s not sure. He can make out figures, yeah. But they could be anyone – and he can’t focus enough to see sharply.

_If only –_

There are snarls, and the next thing Stiles knows that he falls against something _furry black big strong_ when his legs give out underneath him again. And even though he’s barely conscious, he recognizes the snarls, and he recognizes the being he just fell against. _Derek. The pack._ They’re here to help him. He’s not alone. His absence has not gone unnoticed. Derek nestles underneath Stiles until the boy lies across his back somehow, with handful of fur to hold onto, and then he takes off. Stiles doesn’t even open his eyes anymore, doesn’t try to understand what is just happening. His friends are here to save him, and that’s everything he needs to know before giving in to the exhaustion and losing consciousness.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ... escalated?  
> Things have been really busy and really weird lately, and I don't know what to do with that, so I haven't really been able to write. But today, things fell into place, so here I am - with a really long new chapter for all of you!  
> This also means we're slowly coming to an end. I think there'll only be one more chapter, not more. Something to clear up all the questions, so probably two. And just to remind you - for something that was supposed to be a fix-it-ramble-oneshot, this is really escalated. So don't be sad. Also, maybe I'll continue this in one shots, if people are so caught up in the story that they start begging me ;)  
> Again, as always, I love all of your feedback and I really love your thoughts and I want to hear more of them - everything!  
> Thank you for putting up with me through everything!  
> (After reading this, one could think that this already is the end, but like I said, it isn't. Not yet, anyways. I'm just feeling things right now. Many things.)

Stiles knows he’s drifting in and out of consciousness, but he can’t help it. Sometimes he just feels things – like the fact he’s laying without restraints on something softer now, or the fact that somebody shifts things around him, or that his whole body hurts from … well, from what? Malnourishment, probably, and countless bruises. Exhaustion, too. Sometimes, he sees glimpses of stuff. A living room or something like that is around him, then – is that his All Time Low poster? Sometimes it’s light, sometimes it’s dark, but it’s definitely changing time. He knows that, too, whenever he’s awake-ish. He knows people will worry, because he’s never awake for long, and that means he’s probably out of it for days. Or is he just dreaming things?

Maybe Stiles doesn’t know as many things as he’d like to know.

When he wakes up for good, he really is in his room. The curtains are half-shut, and they let light in from what is either early morning or late evening, he’s not sure. His throat is dry as sand, and his joints are aching. There’s a hole in his stomach, a pounding in his head, and he feels sticky like he hasn’t showered in a week. And he kind of needs to pee, but not really. He’s that kind of exhausted you are after sleeping the whole day away – and he has a lot of questions.

An involuntary groan escapes his throat when he sits up to support himself against his headboard, because his body aches like he hasn’t really used his muscles in a while. How long has he been out of it? Stiles couldn’t tell if he wanted to. He looks around, but the room is clean and empty, and so he has nothing to do but inspect himself. He’s clean – no dried blood, no dirt, no anything, he’s just sweat-sticky. The wounds on his wrists are closed up clean and look like they’re going to heal pretty well. Stiles lets all the joints crack he dares to, and then sighs. What is he -?

Then, the door opens.

A spare second, Stiles is terrified. Who could that be? Surely, nobody would be looking after him. They would surely just let him sleep it off, and check on him – well, maybe twice or three times a day. And they surely wouldn’t have waited for him to wake up downstairs, listening for any noises that could be him waking up. So for a split second, he wonders if those are the Dread Doctors, coming back to take him, coming back to kill him or make him a chimera or whatever.

But there’s no monster behind the door when it opens. It’s his dad.

He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and his clothes are rumpled and stained like he hasn’t changed them in days. His eyes are tired and sad, red-rimmed like they only get when he’s really really worried. Stiles knows that look. He’s seen his dad walk on earth like this for a year straight – it was that one year his mother had been fighting that horrible sickness, the year before she died. It breaks his heart to see his dad like this again. It breaks his heart even more to know that he’s the reason for that; because why else would he look like that? His thoughts are proven true when his dad all but lights up with relief when he sees his son awake and staring back at him.

“Stiles!” he exclaims, and rushes up to give him a hug. Stiles chokes out a laugh that makes him cough, but he doesn’t stop holding onto his father. He’s missed him. He’s been so worried. He feels so bad for staying away for so long.

“I’m sorry dad” he mumbles into his sweater, fighting with the tears that want to escape his eyes. He must be strong now. This is the right time to start being strong again.

His father pulls back, only to look him in the eye very seriously. “Don’t you be sorry, kid. I was so worried.” He hugs him again, and wow, this really is new. “You scared me”

“See, so I can be sorry” Stiles jokes, and they both chuckle.

“Do you need anything?” His dad asks, sitting down at the side of the bed.

Stiles shrugs. “Some water would be nice. And a shower.”

“Can the shower wait till you’ve had a bit of soup or something? You haven’t eaten in days.”

“How long have I been out of it?” Stiles asks curiously. He doesn’t really feel hungry or like he should eat.

“Four days, more or less. And you were missing for a week before that. Melissa had some liquid nourishment for you, but .. I just don’t want you to break your neck in the shower after I got you back whole.”

Stiles smiles slightly – the chances of him doing that are high all the time, that has absolutely nothing to do with him not having eaten enough for even easy exercise as standing. “Okay, dad. But I’m fine, I promise.”

“Good. I’ll get you some water, and then heat up the soup. You stay here and relax.” He kisses Stiles’ forehead before he leaves; a thing he used to do when Stiles was still a kid. It is comforting, and has Stiles sink into his pillows again, contemplating the information he just got. He’s been missing for a week. Which, considering his dad, is everything between five and nine days. His dad must have gone nuts. And then he’s been here for another four days. And he can’t remember anything. This is insane. This is absolutely nuts.

The door opens again, and Stiles doesn’t want to open his eyes just yet – he thinks it’s just his father, bringing the water. But then something in him starts aching, in a good way, and he knows he’s wrong before he opens his eyes.

Derek hasn’t showered in a while, and he hasn’t shaved in a while. Stiles is delighted he’s wearing some of Stiles’ baggiest clothes, and he has those glasses on he only wears – never, to be honest. Stiles isn’t even sure he needs them, but they look damn good on him, so screw it.

When their eyes meet, the world seems to slow down, and everything seems to fall into place. Stiles straightens himself up, and Derek takes a seat on the edge of the bed wordlessly before handing Stiles a bottle of water. Stiles takes it, and carefully chugs down a couple of mouthfuls. He feels better instantly, but he knows he needs to be careful – his body is not used to actual nourishment right now. So he puts the water bottle away and looks at Derek, only to find the man already looking at him.

“Hi” Stiles breathes.

That’s enough to break out of the slow motion of the moment. Then, everything moves as it’s supposed to. Derek cups Stiles cheek in a gentle manner, sweeps his thumb over his cheekbone, and Stiles willingly leans forward as Derek does so, too. When their lips meet, there’s nothing special about the moment. There’s no camera wheeling around them in a circle, there’s no fireworks, no music playing. There’s nothing romantic about it, for they could both need a shower and Stiles just woke up from a coma. But something inside him falls into place now, and even while their lips are still touching, he remembers that last day before Derek left.

 

_Stiles knew that this moment was coming. He knew that Derek wanted to leave with Cora, after everything that had happened. But he couldn’t believe that this was actually happening right now – now that Derek just found out that he could turn full wolf, now that Stiles and Derek were actually something. Stiles didn’t know what it really was, of course. But he knew that Derek and he had a routine, and that they understood each other without question, and that they were each other’s anchors. Stiles knew what that meant for werewolves. And somehow he knew what the tugging in his heart meant whenever he saw Derek. He knew the worry, and he knew the fear, and he knew the warmth._

_It was another thing that went without question with them._

_Stiles knew that Derek wanted to leave, but he didn’t expect it to happen so soon. It’s been a month or two since the battle happened, and Stiles just wanted to enjoy the calm that had settled over Beacon Hills after that. So of course he just lounged in his room, when the doorbell rang. The doorbell never rang, for his friends all came in without even bothering to knock, and his father had a key for himself. And there was nobody else who could possibly – but Stiles had that feeling, and it told him that something was going to happen that he wasn’t going to like. That was why he went downstairs and rushed to the door like somebody had died._

_It was Derek. He wore a Henley under his leather jacket, and the Camaro was parked in the driveway. Stiles hadn’t heard him pull up, but it didn’t matter. He knew what it meant. He only had to look at Derek to know it. And his throat choked up right away._

_“Stiles”_

_“Do you really have to go?”_

_“Stiles” Derek repeated, and took a step closer. They were almost touching, now. The closeness was calming. Stiles would miss it, he was sure. “You know it’s time for me to leave.”_

_Stiles had many objections. Derek’s home was here, he had his friends and his pack here, he was safe here. They would figure out something together, and everything would be fine. They would be alright. They would be in the same town, and maybe they would finally figure things out, and then it would be even better. But he’d said them too many times already, and he didn’t want to ruin the moment – the goodbye – with arguing._

_“Yeah” was all he said, “I know”_

_They hugged, then. Stiles clung to Derek like a lifeline, and he didn’t want to let him go. But he knew Derek needed the space, and he knew they both had to figure things out. A part of Stiles wasn’t sure if he would be able to do that all alone, though._

_“If you ever need me, call me, please” Derek said, mumbling against Stiles’ skin, and Stiles could only nod. It was almost like Derek had known what he’d been thinking._

_“Can you make a promise?” Stiles asked as they broke apart, and Derek looked at him in question. “When you come back the next time, we’ll figure this out. Whatever this –“ He’d gesticulated between himself and Derek for lack of better description, “- is. We’ll figure things out, and then you won’t leave again. Can you promise that?”_

_Derek took Stiles’ hand, and a very small, very sad smile tugged on his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes. His sad, green eyes. “When I come back for good, we’ll figure things out, and I won’t leave again. I promise.”_

_It had been silent after that, just the two of them looking at each other. Neither had an idea how long they’d been standing there, but it also hadn’t mattered. This was their way of saying goodbye, and they didn’t need words. And then, when it was time, Derek let go of Stiles’ hand, and took a step back again, breaking them out of their bubble._

_“Goodbye, Stiles”_

_“Goodbye, Derek”_

_Stiles had watched the black Camaro drive off into the late afternoon, with an ache in his heart and hope in his mind._

Back to the present, Stiles is currently clutching at Derek, and kissing him. There’s no hurry or urgency in the kiss, just small, unsaid words exchanged in gestures and hands holding each other close. The warmth Stiles feels is yet unknown to him, as well as the feeling of peace he has while Derek and he breathe the same air while kissing. This is different to the whole cuddling thing they had done before. And Stiles thinks he understands what Derek wants to say.

When they break apart, Stiles takes a moment to consider Derek’s face. He looks exhausted even through the whole perfect-werewolf-look, and his eyes are glowing a dark, cherry red – a calm color, not the wild bright red Scott had, or Derek when his eyes first took the color. Stiles should be more surprised by what he sees, but suddenly everything makes sense. It also doesn’t even matter because he just got kissed by the love of his life.

“Does this mean you’re back for good now?” Stiles asks into the silence, comfortable wound around Derek’s side.

He can hear the smile in Derek’s voice when he answers. “Yes, love, I am. Can’t leave my soulmate all alone now, can I?”

“No, you can’t” Stiles replies, tugging Derek impossibly closer. “You promised.”

“That I did”

And it’s good. Stiles might still be long from fixed, and there is still something about a thousand questions in his mind, but he’s okay. He’s not on rock bottom anymore, for a start. And that’s a good thing.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that I haven't finished this a year ago. I don't really know what kept me - everything was planned. And now I finally found the motivation to write that last chapter that was missing. And it was all planned differently, but I just finished watching season 6B and it changed some of my views, so why the heck not? Thank you all for staying with me this long and for being so patient with me! I really want to know what you think of this ending!

Stiles needs a little while to recover. Turns out it’s late evening, and except for Derek and his dad, the rest of the pack had already gone home to go to sleep, when he woke up. Derek apparently shoots them all a text while Stiles takes his much-needed shower, telling them that he’s okay. His dad drops in Stiles’ room before he goes to sleep himself, wishing them both goodnight. Them both, because apparently Derek is, as the only one of the pack, not staying in a hotel now that they managed to figure shit out. Derek cleans the bowl of the soup away while Stiles showers, brings a large bottle of water upstairs with him that Stiles can’t really leave alone now that he’s fully conscious again. He still feels kind of weird, kind of weak, but he’s also laying in bed with Derek, sharing body warmth and comfort cuddles, so he can’t really complain. Despite the coma he was in, he sleeps like a baby, wrapped up in Derek’s arms huddled together in that bed that shouldn’t so easily fit the both of them. He has no nightmares, and when he wakes up the next morning, the sun is high in the sky and shines into his window, tickling his nose – not unlike Derek’s hair.

They take their time getting ready for the day. The Sheriff has already gone to retake his place at the station, now that his son is back on track. They have breakfast on the porch in the sun, and Stiles finally gets the answers he needed so desperately. Turns out the Dread Doctors had been stopped by the pack – not only the people he called for help, but Scott as well, and Theo. Derek tells Stiles in a surprisingly calm voice that Theo has also been fooled by the Dread Doctors, and really heavily hurt. At first he fell for their words and their act, but Scott and Liam finally managed to convince him that whatever was happening was shit and needed to be stopped. To be honest, Stiles couldn’t really believe that Theo was not a bad guy. With Corey, yes, that wasn’t too much of a problem – the chimera was just quiet, just a victim of those terrible creatures; but Theo?

“Believe me, Stiles” Derek says sincerely. “He has fought with us. He has killed one of them himself. He might never be part of the pack – but he’s not the enemy anymore.” Taking all things into consideration, Stiles must admit that this is not too much of a surprise – Scott has a talent of making allies out of former enemies. Take Peter Hale, for example; or Chris Argent. Still, Stiles has never been more wary of anyone but Theo. That arsehole took his best friend away from him after all – it was all Theo’s fault that this bloody bullshit went down.

He has no chance but to accept this new notion, though – what could he change? Not much, apparently. So Stiles stops arguing, instead finishing breakfast, and then going upstairs to get dressed, leaving Derek to do the dishes; again. It feels natural, in some weird way – he really enjoys this domesticity, and the thought drives a smile to his face that feels tentative and raw, like it might be ripped from him at any given chance.

 

It’s not long after that Stiles finds himself at Scott’s place again. There’s a lot he has to say, and a lot he needs to hear, and since he almost feels like himself again, there’s no reason to put the conversation off any longer. This time, he feels braver like before, and Derek decides to not even come in, instead joining Melissa on the front porch. So, after receiving a hug from Melissa, Stiles heads upstairs. He knows the house by heart, knows which stair creaks the loudest and when to not grip the banister because it’s kind of itchy there.

“Stiles!” Scott’s door opens wide before he even reaches it, and Scott’s beaming at him like nothing ever happened – for a second at least. “Are you okay? Should you really be up? Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Stiles! It’s all my fault. I was the biggest asshole I could imagine! Why did I not trust you enough? I’m so so so sorry!”

Stiles finds himself with handfuls of Scott, and then not anymore, and he must admit that his ears kind of really ring from Scott’s eruption of words. He does what feels most natural – he laughs. “Scott” he says, and then again, “Scott! Calm down, and let me please have a seat. We need to talk.”

So they do that. Stiles doesn’t know how much time passes, but they finally talk. Talk about how bad he felt after Scott didn’t believe him, how he turned to Derek for help. Scott tells him that he’s been blinded by lies the same as, turned out, Theo was, and that they both only realized how bad it had really gotten after Stiles disappeared. Scott tells him how sorry he is, how he should’ve never said anything like that to him. Stiles and he agree that he’s a terrible alpha, and that he should probably leave that part to Derek. Which, by the way –

“How did Derek get his alpha powers back?” Stiles asks.

“Don’t you remember?” Stiles shakes his head, so Scott explains. “You – we can’t really explain, but Lydia and Deaton have been looking into it. Seems like you’re more powerful than it seemed, Stiles; when you were desperate and tried to escape from the lab, you released a wave of – power? – so powerful that Derek’s wolf was called immediately over your soulbond. By the way, Derek, really? You should’ve told me. That makes so much sense!”

“Scott”

“Sorry. So yeah, apparently some of your power recognized Derek as its mirror, and decided to stay with him. Your panic and your power gave him enough strength to become an alpha.”

Stiles was puzzled. “Like, he became an alpha because I have – what, magic?”

“We don’t call it that yet. But yeah, maybe. Looks like your bond is so strong that you share your power, and that makes him an alpha. According to Deaton, that is fucking rare, though, so he can’t say much.”

“Wow” Stiles has a lot of new information to process. So not only is Theo but an instrument of the Dread Doctors and not that bad at all, but also Scott is back on Stiles’ side again and apologized to him. And then, now, there’s this thing with Stiles’ power. They all agreed that there must be something after Stiles’ excellent handling of wolfsbane those months past, but they never further looked into it – Deaton just told him that everybody had some kind of power embedded in their being, it just had to be awakened and believed in. Stiles’ power, as it became obvious now, was gigantic, and the situation he found himself in with the Dread Doctors awakened his full potential. This was kind of sick, and kind of scary as well.

“What did you do? You made him space out!”

Stiles looks up, and Isaac’s in the doorway, looking like a worried puppy – as much as this incredibly tall, grown-up young man could look like a puppy. Stiles doesn’t supress his chuckle. “Don’t worry, Isaac, only in a good way.” He opens his arms and lets himself be hugged by his third-favourite werewolf.

“I’m so glad you’re okay” Isaac whispers in his neck, and Stiles grips him a little tighter. They share this quiet moment, before they hear protest.

“Don’t hog him!” Next thing he knows, Stiles is surrounded by his pack. Lydia is the next to hug him and press a kiss to his cheek, and Malia threatens him that she’ll kill him should he ever pull a stunt like that again, and Liam hugs him quickly, shy. Cora manages to plop herself down on his lap, informing him how worried Derek was and that he should never ever do that to her big brother ever again. Mason and Corey are there, too, but he doesn’t get hugs from them. Derek’s in the doorway as well, watching with a smile as Stiles is pampered in attention of all his favourite people. Stiles finds his eyes over the room and smiles – a real smile this time, something that he doesn’t feel can be taken from him again. There’s the rustling inside of him again, and this time he can name it: his power, magic if you want to call it, recognizing its other half, welcoming it home, reaching out.

They all sit and talk for a while, everyone touching in some way or another, because obviously supernatural creatures have no sense of personal space. It’s warm, and it’s comfortable, and finally this round is whole – with the humans that are so essential to the pack, and the chimera that apparently belongs to them now, too; and the banshee, and the wolves. This time, they are complete, there’s nobody missing in the round, because even those that are gone – whether for good or just for a time – are with them in their minds and hearts. This time, the closeness doesn’t freak Stiles out. This time, it calms him down. This is probably also why he believes Scott’s promise.

“We will never fall out like this again. We are family, and family always stands together.”

They all ‘Amen’ to that, and Stiles recognizes the words as true, because he feels the pack bond scorching, tightening, connecting them all as what Scott just named:

Family.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback's appreciated, and I'd love to know if you want me to continue this - I have an idea at how to let this go on, but I wasn't sure if it wouldn't destroy the feeling of the story.


End file.
